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The Sentinel Ch. 01

By: JPMMURPHY



It was a dark place - figuratively and literally - where he spent most of his time. The room was clean and neat, the only light coming from eight computer monitors on a long table against the outer wall. Here, he watched intently, pushed back in his wheelchair, glancing from one screen to the next, sometimes pausing to reflect on what might be happening on a particular screen.

To his left, a sliding glass door opened onto a small terrace with a wrought iron patio table and three matching chairs. A fourth space was left empty for his wheelchair. Several plants filled the area which was like a big open box turned on its side and set in the corner of the building with a heavy concrete roof above. 

The view beyond was stunning, showing lower Manhattan at night. The lights of the skyline in the distance were like small shooting stars as their bright glow streaked across the water to their points of origin - traffic moving across the Brooklyn Bridge to destinations unknown and uncared about by the lonely sentry keeping watch inside.

The remainder of the floor which he lived on was quiet and occupied only by him. On the five floors below in small islands of music and light, the occupants toasted the coming holidays; visited on the phone; and in general, lived normal active lives. They were all very happy with their recently acquired apartments with the large open floor plans, high windows that gave lots of light during the day, and the completely remodeled rooms filled with the latest and newest in appliances and other electronic conveniences.

On returning from the hospital, he had found his Manhattan condominium unbearable. Even changing bedrooms hadn't helped wipe away the memories. It had been an easy decision to get rid of it and relocate. Choosing an empty warehouse owned by his company and paying a premium price, he'd had the remodeling completed in six months and cried silently when he left his old building. It was by no means closure - feeling more like abandonment as he quietly recalled the times she'd been there, waiting for him after long trips.

The building was a very small part of a global empire built by his father and had originally served as its principle warehouse during the early growth years of the company. But, it had soon been outgrown and had been given over to personal storage for the Pond family. It was located on a small tract of fifty wooded acres with a view of the south end of Manhattan, but Jack's father had always said the area was much more suited to a country estate than a warehouse. With his parents' untimely deaths, Jack had been left as the head of one of the largest family-owned transport and warehousing businesses in the world with offices and storage space in 62 countries. It had also afforded him an opportunity to finally create an estate of sorts although it was not the fieldstone country manor that his father had envisioned. This was more a concrete fortress - Jack's cocoon and buffer to hold the world at bay. 

As urban sprawl had sent highways and other transport in different directions, it had slowly become isolated and cutoff, impractical for the constant movement of the large trucks, vans, and semis needed to support the growing business. 

The isolation of the building might have been a drawback for some with no other buildings or houses within yelling distance but not for the small group of professionals that enjoyed the privacy and isolation provided by the thick stand of trees that surrounded the building. A circular drive and finely manicured lawn completed the facade with an entrance to the underground garage off to the side. Two security guards sat in a small island of light, watching sentry monitors that were as boring as black and white reruns from the 50's. A third guard was making his way down through the parking garage and then up the stairwell to listen outside the door of each apartment just long enough to know that all was well.

Half the first floor was dedicated to a small sports and fitness center with a twenty- five yard two-lane lap pool, sauna, and shower rooms. The other half was a party room, available to the occupants, and complete with a small stage, baby grand piano, and a sound system for those nieces and nephews who were coming of age and wanted to dance away the night with friends and family. A wet bar and a fully-equipped kitchen finished it off.

Jack had taken the half-billion dollar company and turned it into a billion dollar one after his parents' deaths. It had taken five years. Not really the playboy type, he was also not the wallflower some liked to think. His nose was always to the grindstone, and his only free time was the time needed to shower and shave before jetting off to breakfast and business in one country and dinner and business in another. Nevertheless, he did have a few "special female friends" around the world that were always happy to see him when he flew into town. 

He was an Ivy League graduate with a feel for the blue collar worker that his empire was built on. He had found it fairly easy to bring new opportunities in and let his people build the business for him. That, coupled with the willingness of his college classmate, Juan Franciso, had made the hard work of doubling a fortune easy. 

Juan Francisco Martin, better known as John F. in the states, was the son of a British father and Mexican mother, and he had opened up Latin America for Jack. The quiet rivalry during their first year at college had grown into a friendship that even their girlfriends were jealous of. Juan's parents had in many ways become Jack's own after the plane crash that had changed his life. It was not unusual for Jack to fly south of the border for a weekend. He seldom called to announce his intentions, but he was always received like one of the family and sent off to settle in the room they had christened his. Juan's three sisters found Jack fair game for practicing the fine art of Latin flirting which for some reason always left him red-faced. The girls' father only grinned knowingly, and their mother always seemed to find some obscure Saint to bless Jack with while admonishing her daughters who stood innocently watching Jack squirm.

Coming out of college and going directly into the family business had kept Jack busy; his father made certain he learned every aspect of the business - from how to store a dolly on a truck so it wouldn't slide around and damage the cargo to how to fly the Airbus 300's used as their long haul jets. His presence was expected at all board meetings even if he happened to be on the other side of the globe when notified. "Get it done," his father would say into the phone, "and don't forget to bring a tie," a small chuckle in his voice as he left Jack listening to a dial tone. And he did it. He always got it done. He always did the best any father could expect, and oddly enough, it was always more than enough. His father made no bones about the fact that Jack was the hardest working employee he had - the brightest and the best. 

It was clear from the first board meeting Jack attended that he was expected to take the reins some day. Placed at his father's right hand, Jack sat at the same table he had played under many years before while listening to his father consider this and contemplate that with the group of old friends that helped during those early years. Jack was expected to be an active participant in Pond Enterprises from that first official board meeting. He was not to be relegated to the role of a well-educated showpiece, sitting in some plush office taking social calls and making 'strategic' dinner dates.

That, combined with Jack's drive and willingness to do any job that needed to be done, including sweeping the floor in the warehouse, had earned him the respect of his people and made a transition that might have destroyed other companies fairly smooth. He could still conjure up his mother's voice as she pleaded with Jack's father not to take him to the warehouse. "Sweeping the floor was no place for a twelve-year-old boy. Playing with his friends or going to a museum was certainly a more appropriate activity." But it seemed the Ryan boy had been caught stealing again, and this time, it was something much more valuable. As much as his father had hated it, he had been forced to take drastic measures and needed Jack to fill in. It would just be a few days until someone else could be found. Those few days turned into several years as Jack became a permanent fixture, running errands and filling in when someone didn't make it in for the day.

And despite all the effort Juan's sisters had put into it over the years, they had not been the ones to win Jack's heart. Ten years after graduation, he had found her at a restaurant in Paris while waiting for a business meal to start - his invited contact late as usual. She smelled of roses and looked like an angel that rainy night as he began courting her. The business contact had been a no-show, and Jack had finally decided he had better things to do with his time. Walking to her table, he had decided the direct approach was best. "Hi, my name is Jack Pond. I'm not as bright as I look, and I'm a very poor dancer. But I do have an eye for beauty, and I thought the Louvre kept the really important works of art under lock and key at night." Okay, it was corny, but he got a smile. Lisa had put up a fight but only enough to decide his intentions were sincere and that he wasn't just some rich kid on the make. Quiet and settled, Lisa was a corporate lawyer working for one of the top ten Fortune 500 companies; she was a walking corporate law book that had managed to maintain her femininity in the male dominated world of corporate litigation. Two days later and a phone call to his assistant Michelle had had him doing something he hadn't done since entering the company - taking ten days vacation. Hold the calls and I'll let you know where I am.

There had never been talk of marriage even though there was never a lack of hints from Lisa's parents. They had found each other, and that was the important thing. They lived, loved, and shared using air travel as most people would a train commute. She worked and lived in Chicago while Jack lived in Manhattan with a short commute to the Brooklyn office when he was in town. Weekends, whenever possible, were spent at each other's place, and vacations and small trips were spent together whenever schedules allowed. It was love at a level many couldn't understand until they saw them together at a dinner or on a beach. It was in the eyes, the easy touch, and loving care shown in the smallest detail of each other's life.

They had even discovered the wonder of video communication by computer and found they could enjoy some private time talking and sharing with something a little more personal than a telephone. Becoming old hands at chat and the services available, they belonged to all of them and could always find a way to connect during the day - if not by real time chat, then by snail chat - through mails that communicated so much more than most married couples said face-to-face after years of being together. They seemed to have decided without discussion that it worked for them, and this was how life would be.

* * * * *

Sitting alone in the dark, sterile room, his happiness seemed so far away now - another lifetime ago, or worse, another person's life. As he continued to glance from screen to screen watching his "Buddy" lists and the few cams he had open in frequented public chat rooms, he thought, this wasn't how they had lived and was certainly not what he had envisioned for them. Darkness and hate seemed so foreign to what he and Lisa were that sometimes he contemplated letting go of the hunt. Then he would see some phrase or line used in a chat box and wonder is he the one? At the same time, he was afraid. Afraid he would have nothing to live for if he didn't have him to find, to track down, to stand over, and to watch as the life faded slowly from his eyes. 

That day seemed so real at times when part of his subconscious would conjure it up once more. Still in color, it burned on the back of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and watched it unfold. Closing his eyes, he wandered there once more. Could he stop it this time? 

He had been in Chicago for the weekend. They had gone to the blues bars Friday night- an outing though a little bawdy that they both enjoyed. There had been a wonderful feeling of freedom as they had ceremoniously turned their mobile phones off together at the first stop, followed by a small toast - "To us, to love." 

The next day had been beautiful. Looking back on it now, it was as if the gods had deemed it so because it was to be their last day together: a picnic on the shore, a stroll through downtown, the opera at night, and in each other's arms for a few hours of quiet lovemaking before he had to be off. "Big day Monday and I want to go into the office tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you come with me? You can fly back early Monday." No, it was not to be. She had a case to prepare, and besides, she knew what it meant if he went to the office. They would enjoy a plane ride to New York together, and she'd be stuck at his place for six hours while he did whatever was so important. Being home for a late night snack and a night in bed did sound attractive, but she would be worn out by the time she got to the courthouse Monday morning at nine. "No, Jack, I'll look for you in chat tomorrow late, and we can say goodnight. I think I'll go see Mom and Dad and buy my groceries while you wile away your time at that stuffy, old office of yours."

And off he went. Things to do, people to see, and a stuffy, old office to visit. It was a productive afternoon but nothing earth- shattering was accomplished. Arriving home, he'd showered and prepared a snack. Carrying the laptop to his bed, he'd lifted the top and seen her request for a video conference. A click on accept, and there she was. Sitting in the middle of his bed, leaning against the headboard, he'd said, "Hi, babe, nice to see you". He had been surprised when she hadn't responded but he had guessed that the voice chat hadn't connected. Then he had seen the chat box was open and her message appear. Glancing at his programs status line, he was even more confused when he saw 'Voice chat activated'. Looking down at his speaker, he saw it was muted and quickly fixed that. She must have responded, but I didn't hear you'd thought. 

If only you had read the chat, or your speaker had not been muted. If only you had looked at her face, her eyes, and not everything else in your world at that instant. But mostly, if only you had stayed.

You heard it then - the quiet sob and a metallic clicking sound as she looked to her right, off cam and said something. You heard it, didn't you? But what registered was the tension, the fear, not the message. She was emphatic when she said it. You heard it when you played it back in your mind. "Why?" The fear, followed by rage, kept you from understanding as you heard a man's voice, deep and gruff, respond, "Shut up, bitch, and do it."

You practically yelled in response, "Lisa, what is it? What's happening?" Not waiting for a response, you had grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed 911 while blurting out, "Hold on, I have an emergency here." You could hear the operator asking the nature of the emergency and trying to confirm your address, but you finally dropped the cordless phone on the bed so you could pay attention to what was happening on your computer screen.

Then he yelled, "Do it now, bitch." You watched, speechless, as she raised her right hand and pushed the left spaghetti strap of her silk nightshirt down, exposing her breast.

"Why isn't Jackie boy answering? See if he's there." It was a demand of an angry person wanting his way and being emphatic about it.

You answered, didn't you? You yelled your head off at him until you realized she had muted her speaker so he couldn't hear you. Looking down, you had seen it at last. "Jack, answer me here." 

"What?" was all you managed as you pounded the keys.

"Good," you heard as he responded mockingly. "Tell him maybe he'll enjoy this as much as you're going to. Wait. Ask him where the hell his cam is." Watching the chat box, it appeared. "Where's your cam?" There was an explosion of yelling as the intruder became emphatic again, "I want his damn cam up so I can see his face, and I want you to tell him what I said - 'Just maybe he'll enjoy this as much as you're going to.' Do it now, bitch, or it all ends right now."

"Jack, I really need your cam on, dear, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I'm going to."

It was clear that whoever it was, thought you couldn't hear him and just as clear, was that he was threatening her life. Hitting the icon, you saw your own picture come up on the screen as a smaller image inside hers. Reaching for the phone, you had intended to give 911 as much information as possible, as quickly as possible, before your image appeared on the other end, but it was too late as you heard, 'That's it, Jackie boy. Now tell him not to move, and the last thing I want to see is him talking on a phone, or we'll see how good the color is on these things. I wonder if red really looks red?" The laugh was evil at its worst. It sent a shiver up your spine as you watched a tear fall slowly from her right eye, pausing on her upper lip before cascading away. And as instructed, she typed.

It occurred to you to read everything out loud, and maybe, the 911 operator would get it. Pushing the phone up beside the laptop, in hopes the intruder's voice would come through also, you spoke the words as you read them, making it all seem that much more real and vile.

"The other strap and make it quick." He seemed business-like that time as you watched her left hand come up, fingers shaking, as she dropped the right strap, her top falling around her waist, both breasts exposed.

"I want you to do it good. I want you to do it like I was Jackie boy. But first, tell him I want him to get his dick out and jack off while you do me."

She finally broke down and sobbed, "No, I won't do it. You can go to hell, you asshole and I hope you ro…' Her voice was cut off by a jerk of her head and a muffled slapping sound. With the imagery coming through at about a frame every two seconds, you had missed his hand and had only seen her slump back against the chair to sob. You had felt it, hadn't you - her pain, her tears? The rage had been blinding as you sat there frozen, waiting to see what would happen next. 

"Look, bitch, I want his cock in his hand and mine in your mouth. Do it or die"' He was furious now, and you could see her body convulse as she slowly leaned forward and started to type. The spelling was so bad you wouldn't have understood if you hadn't heard him, but you knew what he wanted.

She looked right at the camera - her eyes intense, wide with fear and mouthed it. You missed that too, didn't you, Jack? It was months before you got that one. "I love you." She had managed to say it to you one last time, and you almost missed it.

Jerking the towel away, you leaned down to type but stopped when you heard that metallic sound again. Looking at her picture, you saw it all as if in slow motion. A gloved hand, sticking out of a brown suede coat arm, came out and turned her head sideways so she was looking off cam again. Her jaw shaking, she opened her mouth slowly. "Wider, bitch, it won't fit." And you watched as she closed her eyes and forced her mouth open more. "I want to see some tongue, bitch; I like it nice and wet." Obediently, her tongue came out and waved a little.


The Sentinel Ch. 01



Thinking he might be distracted, you yelled, "It's a rape in Chicago at 1326 East Elm apartment 6, penthouse. Break the door down! Quick!"

Then the unthinkable happened, didn't it, Jackie boy? You saw the barrel, shiny, stainless steel, as it slipped into her mouth, pushing back far enough she gagged on it. Your reaction was immediate as you grabbed the phone and started babbling. The sound of the gunshot was so loud you later discovered one of your computer speakers had blown. You cried out, didn't you, Jack? A primal, animal cry as your instincts took over, and you jumped off the bed to grab your robe. You had to do something, didn't you, Jack? You had sat there like an idiot all that time, and now, you had to do something. Anger led to instinct which left you confused when you heard the sirens outside your own building. You thought they had arrived, hadn't you, Jack? You still thought you could save her. Running to your door, you flung it open and bolted.

Jack, you've got to admit buddy, you looked guilty as hell running down the hall with nothing on but a robe and a savage look on your face. Who could blame that cop, Jack? He was brand-new, right out of the academy, and got sent to his first real call - a rape in progress at the address traced to your phone number. Then, when he's running up the stairs, his radio crackles with, "Shots fired. Use extreme caution."

Well, Jack, I guess he did, didn't he? When he came around the corner, running to save her life, and saw you fifteen feet away with something black in your hands, he got about as cautious as he could and dropped you. Thinking the black phone was a handgun that had already been fired once, he didn't even think about yelling, "Stop right there, Police!" The shot was clean and quick as he dropped to one knee and took aim. Right at your belly button, Jack. It gave him a target big enough to hopefully drop you without killing you. Lucky for you, he was off a little - just to the right where it went through your intestines and lodged beside your spine.

Pushing back in the wheelchair, Jack jumped with a start when the phone rang, jerking him back to reality. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and his hands shook as he reached to answer. "Hello?"

"Jack. How ya doin', Jack?" Juan's voice was a welcome escape from Jack's personal nightmare.

"You know, Juan, mas de la misma."

"Pinché cabron, when you gonna get the hell out of that fortress you've built over there?"

"Ah, Juan, you know me...dug in and hunkered down."

Juan and his assistant Michelle were the only two left that knew how and where to find him. It had taken a couple of hours for the police to work out exactly what had taken place, and by then, he was well into twelve hours of surgery. The doctors had been amazed by the outcome and been assuring him for six months that he could walk as soon as he decided to.

He had missed her funeral as he lay in the hospital recovering. When he finally made it to her apartment, it had been cleaned and scrubbed with the furniture all in its place and her laptop sitting on the small desk she used in her bedroom. Wheeling up to it, his fingers shook as he opened the lid. No, he couldn't do it. Instead he had called Michelle from the living room. "Bring it with you," he'd told her. "I'll look at it later." 

But Lisa was gone. He could find no part of her between the empty walls. The smell of carpet cleaner had wiped out the smell of her perfume. Her clothes had been taken away - some by forensics but most to Goodwill. The jewelry box he'd given her last Christmas was nowhere to be found, and lonely nails waited on the walls for someone to return their memories for public viewing.

Everything else was gone. It was as if his own being had been packed up and put away with them, sold at a garage sale for fifty cents or dropped in a garbage bag for quick disposal.

He had rebuffed Juan's invitation to get that shiny new van that could practically drive itself out of the garage and take it for a spin. It had been sitting in the basement for over a year. Washed daily and serviced every six months, it still had less than three hundred miles on it. Dinner and some quiet talk over drinks actually sounded nice, but it still didn't seem like the right thing to do.

"Come on, Jack. You're never going to use your legs again if you don't stretch your horizons beyond the four walls of that luxury prison you've built yourself."

The silence had been long, and finally, Juan had done what he'd called for - what he knew deep down inside would happen anyway - he confirmed a meeting tomorrow with Jack at his place around two in the afternoon. "And get out the tequila, cabron; we actually have something to celebrate."

Assurances that he would drink Juan's sorry Mexican ass under the table seemed to placate for the moment, and after asking about and listening in great detail to the state of Juan's parents, his wife Mary, and his three sisters, Jack clicked the phone off and sat for a minute. 

Laying the phone beside a keyboard, Jack sighed and stood. Stretching to get the stiffness out of his limbs, he walked to the sliding glass door and stepped out into the night air, leaving the wheelchair behind. No one knew yet; he was sure of that. Not even Juan and Michelle. A glance out over the water at the glitter of Manhattan, and he turned to his left to open another sliding glass door that entered the main living area of his apartment. It was a large comfortable room with furniture hardly used, paintings never gazed upon, and a television he wasn't even sure he could turn on without digging out the instruction manuals.

To his left, about fifteen feet away was a low divider of shelves that contained books that had not been touched since their placement on the shelves. Beyond the divider, was a slightly bigger space with a dining room table that seated twenty - the only piece of furniture he had kept from his past - the board room meeting table he had played under at his father's feet. At the far end of the dinning area was a fireplace of rough-cut sandstone that provided a warm feeling even when no logs were burning in it. The stone of the fireplace continued around on his left, covering the inside wall to his computer room, into which the only entrance was through the open porch area he had just come through. He really didn't want to chance someone wandering around his house and accidentally finding themselves staring at his computer screens.

Walking past the table, he stepped through heavy oak double doors to the right of the fireplace that lead to his bedroom, an area as big as the main living area. A fireplace of black obsidian reflected the fireplace in the dining room, and a polished black marble hearth ran the width of the room, ten feet out from the wall. Centered in front of the fireplace was his bed, built low on a solid base to allow easy entry and exit for someone that was supposedly more dependent on his arms than his legs. To his left, a wall of triple pane thermal windows looked out on the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance, and to his right, another wall of glass, slightly frosted, looked into his personal workout area and bathroom.

Beyond the bathroom were his dressing room and closet, all drawers and hangers lower than in most houses, and at the back of the closet, another door that would take him to the stairwell beyond - a fire escape of little use to a man in a wheelchair. Finding what he'd come for, he walked back out to the dining area and turned left into the kitchen which was separated from the dining room by a counter that could easily seat ten. Beyond that was a "nook" with seating for twelve around an oval of thick glass perched on a solid obsidian base and polished to a high sheen. He'd lost himself several times in the depths of that blackness, searching for signs of her.

To the left, there was another door to the fire escape; to the front, more floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across the treetops beyond; and to his right, was his personal study. Walking to his desk, he suddenly felt a little more relaxed as he glanced around the room. There were no windows here - just dark mahogany paneling and bookshelves on two sides, another fireplace made of rough cut soap stone Juan had sent up from Mexico with two leather wingbacks on each side of the hearth, and a small half-couch, facing a coffee table at the edge of the hearth. There was no chair at the desk because he wasn't expected to use one. The space was left open for the wheelchair he'd abandoned six months ago.

On the unoccupied wall hung one picture, a solitary shrine to a love shared and lost in the cruelest of fashions. It was a casual snapshot with no real artistic value - something you could find in any number of envelopes, at any number of film development places, on any number of days in the year - a 6x4 landscape shot framed between two pieces of glass so the photo itself appeared to be part of the wall covering beneath. It was Jack, kicked back in a hammock somewhere in southern Mexico with a week's growth of beard and a goofy-looking straw hat pulled down over his eyes with Lisa curled in beside him, both sound asleep. It had been taken by Juan, who had journeyed with them on that trip along with a lady-friend he called his 'sometimes lover'. Jack thought it the most fitting way to remember he and Lisa as a couple - not a care in the world and sound asleep, waiting to awaken from the nightmare that engulfed them both. 

Sitting in front of the desk in a visitor's chair, he pulled the thick scrapbook towards him and opened it about halfway through to a spot where the pages were empty. Opening the newspaper he'd brought from his bedroom, he found the two articles of interest and carefully cut them out before positioning them on the page on the right and writing underneath the name of the newspaper they came from and date published. Glancing back through a few of the pages, he lingered just a little on articles of interest before pushing the scrapbook shut and sliding it back to its place on the owner's side of the desk where his wheelchair should be. The charade would be over soon, and he could finally put a chair back there. Not yet, but soon.

* * * * *

It was always good to get a visit from Juan. He was one of the links with his past life that didn't hurt, and Jack sat patiently by his private elevator awaiting his announced visitor's arrival. Shaved and combed with a blanket tucked around his legs, he watched the numbers slowly go up until the doors opened and out stepped Jack's past.

"Jack, you asshole, you're slipping. They only searched me once today. Maybe you should fire someone quick." Of course, they never searched Juan or Michelle. They were both well-known and were the only two people in the world that had keys to his private elevator. The guards would smile, wave, and make another entry in the computerized visitors' log, noting the time, day of the visit, and who had stopped by. Juan was making fun of Jack's own obsession with security more than anything, and it had become a part of their ritual - something intended to distract Jack while Juan gave him the once over to see how his buddy was getting along.

"Hey, Juan, they just let you up here 'cause I'm having the place painted, and they think you're the hired help."

Leaning down, Juan placed his head beside Jack's and reached around to slap him on the shoulder. Standing back, he looked Jack right in the eye and paused before asking in the intimate tone of family, "How are you, Jack?"

The routine never changed and never failed to bring a slight welling to Jack's eyes. Juan brought the feeling of comfort and family to him on every visit as if it were a special toy that Jack could get out and play with before it got packed up again at the elevator when Juan would linger to say goodbye.

"Things are good, Juan," as they always were.

With Juan leading the way, Jack followed to take up his place across the coffee table opposite Juan on the couch. Tequila and small hornita glasses, the only way to drink tequila, were set out in the middle of the coffee table.

"So, Juan, have you driven my company into the ground yet?"

"Right, Jack, and let you come back and take credit for saving it? Olvídelo carbón." Taking the bottle, Juan poured two tequilas and shoved one across the table in front of Jack before continuing. "Que te vías mucho a la chingada péndejo. Salud."

Taking his own hornita of tequila and raising it to Juan, Jack continued with, "To the only family I have...and isn't that a sorry state of affairs, pinché idiota?" With a tilt of the head, four ounces of tequila disappeared, and they both settled in and relaxed some.

Breaking the silence, Juan started by laying a report in front of Jack before proceeding to explain year-end projections. It had been a banner year for Pond Enterprise with news of a possible bidding war from the two transport giants to buy Jack's company out. It seemed Jack had some warehouse space and operation permits in more than a few countries that the competition couldn't get into. There was nothing in writing yet, but Juan expected news the first of next week. What did Jack want him to do about it? 

Leaning down to pick up the bottle of tequila, Jack poured the next round, taking his glass up to lean back in his wheelchair and ponder the situation. Juan followed suit and sat quietly as he reflected on his close friend. No words were spoken; Juan knew that this was Jack's call. His current position as CEO for Pond Transport was as much a favor to Jack as for a fat paycheck. Hell, the place practically ran itself, and the Pond name opened doors where no door seemed to be.

Downing his tequila, Jack wheeled away from the coffee table to the floor-to-ceiling window behind where he sat and thought about the years, time, and money his father had put into the company: the employee weddings; visits to the hospital to pinch the cheek of a newborn where he would discreetly slide a thick envelope to the mother; and Jack's own experience of standing behind the podium in his father's place and hearing the room go quiet, not because he'd asked them to, but because they wanted to hear what he had to say.

He could hear Juan pouring another round and turned to see a fresh hornita set up and waiting. Wheeling back, he surprised Juan with his question, quiet and sober, in spite of the spirits consumed, "You like your job, Juan?"

Setting his full hornita back on the table, Juan decided this was going to be a serious talk, not a Jack Pond blow-off with a second verse of "Make the World Go Away" as he usually got on these visits. This sounded like someone Juan used to know, and he leaned forward on the couch to answer. "Sure, Jack, I do. I'm good at it and have taken what you and your father built and made it even bigger." Pausing a beat to gauge Jack's reaction, he forged on. "But it's not my job, Jack; it's yours. It's where you belong, Jack. I can't walk across a warehouse floor anywhere in the world that I don't get stopped at least three times to be asked how you are and more importantly, when you'll be back. I may be the manager, Jack, but you're their leader. It's time you faced up to that, Jack, and got down from this rock you're hiding on." 

Jack didn't have to consider the sobering words; he knew it was all true. And if his guess was right, he was about to embark on a journey that would give him closure. What would he do then? He would put his grief away and be left with a great emptiness that would need filling. Would it be fair to his parents to just fade away and forget about living? They had had that option taken away as had Lisa. Would it be fair to her? Would that mean the killer had really won? Even if Jack tracked him down and killed him, would the killer win the war after loosing the battle?

Coming back, he found Juan sitting patiently, waiting for his response; Jack picked up his tequila and raised it to Juan. Downing it with gusto, he started, "Here's what we're going to do, Juan. No. Pond is not for sale. I own sixty percent; you should own ten percent by now, especially if we end this year like you say we will. The employees own ten percent, and the rest is in a charity trust controlled by all of us. No one's taking over Pond Enterprise. Here's what I want you to do, and I want it to be your deal. Talk to the big guys and tell them, thanks, but no thanks. But, tell them we'll lease them space and provide the Pond infrastructure to move their merchandise for them. We want three things from them. We want money, so they better get their checkbooks out; access to any of the ports of entry we're not already in; and - this will be the tough one but if we don't get this, no deal - we want branding. We want our name to be included with theirs - on their trucks, on their packaging, and on their planes. I want to look up, see their names, and find Pond Enterprises there, too. Of course, we'll reciprocate. We'll settle for fifteen percent of their brand size, below and to the right. They can call us associates, business partners, strategic alliance buddies. Hell, they can call us assholes if they want. We'll do it with either one of them or both of them; it's really up to them." Pausing, Jack waited to see if Juan had any comments, only to be answered by contemplative silence.

"You hungry, Juan? I bet we can get a pizza or something sent up to this joint if we try hard enough." Juan just laughed as he stood to take his coat and tie off. This was going to be a long evening and maybe one of the best since Lisa's death. He wanted to dig in and get comfortable. 

"Pizza! That's what's wrong with you gringos - no idea how to eat. Is your refrigerator as empty as your head?"

With that, they headed off for the kitchen, and Dad's old boardroom table became a strategic meeting platform once again.

* * * * *

Juan had left at four in the morning, claiming employee abuse, but the grin on his face told another story completely. His old friend seemed to be back or at least, under conditional surrender. The conditions Jack had put forth were easily accepted. Juan would not breathe or hint a word of Jack's future, imminent return to anyone, including Michelle. Business was to go as usual, and Jack would be in his old office January 2nd. Juan was also expected to keep a heads-up from now until New Year's for any 'unusual' company communications that might need his attention. Upon receiving such a communication, he should act as he saw fit. Last condition. Jack was going on a trip and would be out of touch. The explanation would be time alone and away to find closure, and Juan would please accept any unusual expenses that might show up on Jack's business cards - no questions asked.

Jack laid awake the rest of the morning talking quietly to Lisa. They worked together to put away his anger and prepare him for what he was about to do. For some reason, Lisa didn't seem to be in agreement with his plan, but she finally gave in. As the sun came up, and Jack finally drifted off to sleep, he seemed to recall that Lisa always gave in to him in the end. Did I take advantage of you, Lisa? Of us? Jack drifted off to a dreamless sleep, and still, no one, but Lisa knew he could walk.



The Sentinel Ch. 02



Michelle got a little giddy when Jack called after noon to see if she could scare up a barber that could come by and give him a cut. Then when he actually asked about corporate gossip, she almost fell off her chair. His only calls since Lisa's death had been to order groceries and get rid of his physical therapist.

Hanging up the phone, he continued keeping pace with his running machine as he watched his heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing. No one had seemed to notice that he had ordered a second running machine for the gym downstairs, and it had never arrived. He had managed to waylay it at the front door and have it brought upstairs on the pretense of 'goods inspection'. He must have walked and run around the world on it and was sure he could take up long distance running next year if the company no longer needed him.

His bags were packed with Lisa's laptop sitting in its case with the charger and other cables he'd need to connect; he didn't plan on letting Lisa's machine out of his sight. His own laptop was in a check-in case that could handle the rigors of baggage handlers. Shutting down the walker, he stepped off and headed for the shower. It would be his first foray into the real world other than the occasional trip to the doctors, and Jack was nervous. Aside from stock reports and limited business or finance news, Jack had little idea what it was like out there.

Six months after the operation, the doctors had given up. At the last meeting they had said, "Jack, we can't make you walk again, but you can. When you decide to do that, call us." Upon his return, he had promptly fired his therapist and thrown himself on the floor. It had taken five weeks of dragging himself around by his arms and upper torso to wake up his legs. He could still remember the joy of sticking a needle in his big toe - something his doctors had been doing for months - and having it hurt like hell. In another week he'd been crawling around like a nine-month-old baby. It had taken another two months to get upright, and a year and a half after being brought down by New York's finest, Jack was running farther on his running machine than he ever had in his former life.

Aside from the commitment to walk again, Jack had become possessed with finding Lisa's killer. He lived, not so much to ask why, as to watch the life of this person slowly fade away as he leaned down to whisper, "…are you enjoying it as much as I am yet?" He was driven by a search for closure - not meaning, because there was none, but he driven just the same. 

There had been four other killings since Lisa's - all chatters. Their computers had been found on, and the crime witnessed by a lover or friend who had unwittingly been forced to witness the last gruesome moments. There seemed to be no preference for male or female victims. One couple had been two gay men, chatting while one was away on business. Another had been cyber-lovers, a man and woman that had never met in real life, their only sin being an open show of love and commitment in a public chat room. The husband and wife were a surprise until Jack learned that the man worked for one of the big oil companies and commuted on a regular basis, spending two weeks every three months out of the country during which the couple extended their love life into cyberspace.

His computer room and the workout room had become his home, where he pondered, existed, and worked, but not work in the normal sense of the word. His time not spent running and exercising was spent sitting in his wheelchair, transfixed, watching twenty different chats in as many rooms, flipping between cams to see if he could find anything that would give him a clue. He had seen it all: the quiet chatters there just to chat and meet friends; the on-line sex partners that made triple xxx look tame; and aggression beyond belief. While it never went beyond the keyboard, the amount of anger and just plain meanness that could be found was astounding.

He had set up a small stereo system and patched in all the computers sound boards so he could switch from voice chat room to voice chat room without bearing the discomfort of headphones or earplugs. It was here, he first heard him. Early one morning after midnight when the real hardcore chatters and insomniacs came out, he had been channel-surfing, switching from voice channel to voice channel, listening in to the endless stream of psycho-babble people were using to persuade their way into someone else's life, when he heard the word. 'Bitch'. The word, the voice, the tone, even the intent was there. Grabbing the headphones, he'd continued to listen, waiting to hear it again. Nothing, just a bunch of people chatting about sex. He had to dig around a little to find the cam their attentions were focused on but did. He watched and listened for an hour, but he was unable to find the voice again. His momentary jubilance turned quickly to deep depression as he sat and thought how close he'd been and missed it. A few keystrokes and the printer spit out a list of occupants in the chat room. Picking it up, he scanned the names, looking for some clue in the strange nomenclature people used to identify themselves.

He almost missed it the second time but caught enough to know who was on one side of the conversation. Deciding to try written chat first and avoid being recognized, he 'paged' blue_goose to see if he could 'PM' which means a private written message between the two of them that other room occupants couldn't see. At first, Jack was afraid he would be 'Ignored' or 'Blocked', but finally, blue_goose answered. 

"Sure teddy_bear, how u this morning" - no one used proper punctuation, sentence form, or spelling. Chat shorthand was phonetic and built for speed. If you weren't accustomed to it, you couldn't keep up with a room full of fifty or sixty people, half of them talking to the multiple chatters at the same time.

It took a few brief minutes of mindless chatter to get invited into their conversation, but Jack made it. He had feigned no microphone to explain why he would stay in written chat while they were welcome to just 'keep on a talkin'.

And there it was. "Sure, she's a real bitch, hell, she talks like one too." He sat frozen in his chair; his mind in turmoil as he edged forward and gripped the arm rests of his wheelchair until his knuckles hurt. 

"Sure 'nuff," answered blue_goose, and Jack noticed the other occupant in the room was lacy_lace. 

"Yeah, I watched her the other night, and she turned out to be a spitter. What a waste of time," lacy_lace replied.

Frantic, the voice bouncing around in his head, he jumped up and ran to the end of a room to dig in a file cabinet for a microphone. He had never counted on talking and had dumped all the microphones in a file cabinet; his plan had been stealth. His hands shook as he tore at the plastic and fumbled with the tie wrap that held the microphone cable in place. Throwing trash around and falling to his knees, he had practically pulled the connectors loose from the back of the computer, trying to get it out from the wall far enough to get the microphone plug into the jack of the soundcard on the back. Up on his knees, he watched the screen, and heard lacy_lace respond again.

"Fucking bitch"

No doubt. It was the same voice. Grabbing the machine's mouse, he pointed and clicked on 'Join Voice Chat', expecting to be able to talk immediately. He almost blacked out from the frustration when he saw the little yellow error message that said he needed to configure his broadcaster. Clicking on the broadcaster, he frantically went through the set-up procedure for his microphone as lacy_lace and blue_goose continued to chat away.

"Who are you lacy_lace?" he practically screamed at last, after the configuration had been accepted. "I know what you did, and I'm going to kill you." The channel was quiet as he heard his own ragged breathing in his earphones. Had he scared them off? What was he thinking? Damn, what to do now? Then he heard it. A little distant at first as the auto-level control adjusted, and suddenly, he could hear someone that sounded like his own mother talking to him.

"Not sure who you are, but I'm lacy_lace, and I was talking with my good friend blue_goose. You got a problem, son?"

Jack's response was immediate. "Where's the other guy I heard - the one talking about the 'bitch', the guy with the deep voice. Who was that?" He could hardly breathe as he listened to dead air, waiting for a response. When it came, his vision went grey, and he felt light-headed.

Low and gravelly, the reply returned in a voice as sinister as ever while the tone and message expressed concern. "That was me, lacy_lace. You okay, son?"

He was confused and dizzy; his stomach tied in knots as he tried to put it all together. Then he heard blue_goose reply, "My good friend lacy_lace was trying out a freeware voice synthesizer she came across. Wanted to see how real it really sounded. You okay, son? You sound a bit tense."

He had to breathe; he was suffocating as he pulled the headset off and threw it on the floor. Barely able to crawl, he made his way out onto the open porch to pull himself up by the concrete surround wall. Leaning over, he breathed deep and fought to let it out slow. His heart pounded, and his hands were sweaty. 

A voice synthesizer? But it sounded so real. It sounded just like him. Waiting for his heart to slow, he let go for a minute and gave in to the call from that dark room he kept locked, listening once more. "Do it now, bitch, or it's all over." Jerking his head up, he realized the killer must have used a voice synthesizer. Almost crashing through the glass sliding door, he stumbled in front of his computer and dug around for the headphones. Sliding them on halfway, he grabbed the microphone. Frantic now, but not distraught, he called out, "Lacy_lace, you still there?"

After a few seconds of dead air, she responded, "Sure, son, we're still here. Are you okay?"

"Sure, sorry, fine. It's just that I've been looking for a guy... Well, I thought it was a guy that..." What to say? What could he tell them? But then it came to him, "...keeps trashing my web site, and he always leaves a voice message for me. Sounds just like you did with your synthesizer. I thought you were him."

"Oh, yeah, me and Vern had a problem with my site; some guy kept coming in and blackin' out all the images. Made Vern mad as hell, but we stopped him alright. Tell ya what ya do, son..."

"No, sorry, no; that's okay. I think I have him stopped, but I would sure like to know where you got that software. Maybe I'll get a copy, and when I find this guy, I can scare the hell out of him, too."

"Sure, son. Hang on; let me get Vern in here. He knows the address. Check out your chat, and I'll have him send you the link."

True to her word, within minutes the link appeared in blue letters in his chat box. A screen dump made sure he had a hard copy, but he still took the time to write it on a small pad he used for taking notes. It wasn't much. A million people could have downloaded the synthesizer by now, and owners of freeware were notoriously hard to find. But it was the closest he had come in a year of searching for Lisa's killer.

Jack thanked lacy_lace and blue_goose and signed off. His chest hurt from the tension as he stood slowly and walked back into the main rooms of his apartment, not bothering to turn the computers off or sign out of any chat programs. Why should he? They hadn't been turned off since they'd been installed. Why start now?

He didn't even bother to undress before he threw himself facedown in the middle of his bed, turning to see what time it was before falling asleep. He dreamed of falling puzzle pieces with a gruff-voiced announcer asking him to pick a piece - any piece.

*****

Jack found the software offered on one of the big freeware download sites that specialized in all manner of bells and whistles for your existing system. He was afraid it would be a dead end when he saw the hundreds of listings, all with links to the site offering the software, until he clicked on the link for 'Savage Voice'.

It took him to a second site with bold red and black letters across the top that said 'Take That Bitch!' He just sat frozen as a small naked lady danced around the letters of the banner. Finally pulling his eyes away from the banner, his heart beating a little faster, he scrolled down. 'She'll never know who you are with Savage Voice.' Scrolling down farther, he found a paragraph description of technical requirements, but what most interested him was the author's final promo. 'Do what you want, to who you want, when you want. If you do it by voice, they'll never know who you are, and I personally guarantee it.'

And who the hell are you, Jack wondered? Clicking on the FAQ's link in hopes of finding more out about how the killer might have used it, Jack was taken to a page of user feedback questions and answers. He found what he wanted from a kid in Florida who wrote, "Hey Dude, this sounds really neat, but what platform will it work on? Is it only a text reader or can I talk into a microphone and let it change my voice?"

"I haven't found a PC-based platform yet this won't run on. You can use it either as a really wild text reader on which you can leave a written voice message for someone, and it will read it to them in the voice you want. Or you can go to the sound options on your desktop, select advanced settings, patch the microphone through the Synthesizer, and talk away."

Jack wondered how the killer could have done it using this. Did he load it on Lisa's computer? But she sounded normal. Did the killer take a laptop and set it up beside hers, talking into a microphone and letting her microphone pick it up? The act just seemed too cumbersome.

Moving down the page, he found a mailing address in Los Angeles - just a PO Box number with a zip code to be precise, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. First, he went back to the download page; his mouse poised over the link. It seemed wrong or bad; or maybe, it just scared the shit out of him to think he could have and carry around the voice of her killer. Resolution and a click took care of that as he downloaded and installed the program.

Going to the U.S. Postal Service site, he was able to get the address for the post office where the PO Box was located.

*****

It was a dark place, in many ways similar to Jack's. It was a little smaller, but it was still a room full of computers - all the same, with screens sitting on tables, keyboards at the ready in front of each monitor as the Sentinel sat in a leather padded chair watching, turning occasionally to inspect the happenings on one screen before turning to another. There were notable differences though. The Sentinel sat naked, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts scattered among the keyboards. A small closet bathroom sat off to the side; it contained what used to be a white porcelain toilet, now stained and dirty from never being cleaned. The door was open, and a bare bulb which provided light if needed hung from two wires dangling from a hole in the ceiling. 

The floor was littered with wads of Kleenex that spoke of a persistent cold or, considering what was happening on the computer screen - sticky fingers. But then, this was the Sentinel's private lair, a space no one else was allowed into, and the Sentinel wasn't about to loose screen time cleaning it; there was too much happening on the screens. Or, maybe, the room spoke of neglect because of shame - shame for what took place in it or shame of acknowledging it even existed?

For some reason, it was the only place the Sentinel smoked - a nasty habit used for its degradation more than anything. 

Littered among the Kleenex on the floor were candy bar wrappers and a few beer cans. Old pizza boxes with pieces of crust and moldy containers of garlic butter sat on some of the computer screens. The watcher had long ago become impervious to the smell of the room. Much like a nest, the smell now served to excite and comfort, because, when the smell was present, the Sentinel knew all was well. Knew the computers were on-line and watching. Knew people were out there waiting - waiting to be touched by the Sentinel, watched and enjoyed by the Sentinel, and if the right couple could be found - if lucky enough to qualify, the Sentinel would bless them with a visit. Just the thought of it brought a rush as the Sentinel shifted in the cracked grimy cover of the chair.

Movement on a screen caught the Sentinel's attention, and the chair moved forward with the creaking sound of rusty bedsprings to permit closer inspection. Yes, she had come out tonight - probably lonely because her boyfriend might be off doing something without her. Having spent hours chatting, the Sentinel had carefully documented little tidbits of information about hundreds of candidates that were dropped here and there - passwords when given out, the cities they might be living in. Some people were even dumb enough to give out their real addresses or post them in their universal ID's where they could be gotten by anyone. Picking up a notebook, smudged and dirty from constant handling, the Sentinel consulted a page before looking at the screen again.

This one was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the Sentinel's first had been. She was chatting from a college dorm room: liked pasta and giving blow jobs to her boyfriend; drank beer even though she wasn't of age yet; loved heavy metal, her music of choice; and loved to talk about being fucked up the ass even though the Sentinel suspected it was just talk. And if the pennant on the wall was right, the Sentinel now knew which campus. Another girl would occasionally walk by and even stop to chat a minute or two before relegating herself to the bed against the wall where she would sit, book on her lap as she read or studied. And since the Sentinel was a fellow student - a freshman from some dreary women's college far away - the roommate seldom concerned herself with clothes. Why should she? It was her room, too, and she could dress or undress as she pleased.

The Sentinel worked hard at gaining people's confidence. Being an active chatter with a quick wit, the Sentinel was always welcomed in their rooms. Providing color and laughter, sympathy and understanding, the Sentinel quickly became a 'confidant' to many, listening to problems, helping with technical questions, and just being a 'friend'.

Sometimes, the Sentinel was a man and sometimes, a woman. Sometimes, a grandparent and sometimes, a sister or brother - often, a lover. The Sentinel had a knack for knowing what people might want to hear or need. The Sentinel could also be needy which was important. People always felt good about themselves if they thought they could 'help out'. While they couldn't give you a cup of coffee or a beer to show hospitality, they could always find other ways to help. They could listen and offer advice which somehow became a reversed process over the months as trust blossomed.

And now, the Sentinel took on the role of teenage girl. Chat was opened, and the Sentinel said 'hi' to 'suzi_blue' as suzi sat in her dorm room with a look of despair on her face. This was not new for the Sentinel; suzi_blue was the typical college sophomore coed with a busy schedule and active sex life. And since she knew the Sentinel as 'crazy lacy' and had even received a picture of her lounging on the beach with her boyfriend, suzi_blue thought nothing of parading around her room in little or no clothes as she got ready for bed or to go to class while chatting with lacy. Lacy had given campus policy as her reason for not having a cam to chat live with video, and suzi accepted the reason readily. Lacy made up for it by sending the occasional snapshot she had been able to scan in at the campus computer center. The only reason suzi had a cam was because her boyfriend had given it to her so they could, well, you know, do it together on cam. Lacy was amazed and a little fascinated as suzi told in great detail of her sexual adventures with her boyfriend on cam. Lacy was such a great listener and seemed so interested; besides, suzi somehow felt older, wiser when telling Lacy about 'it'. She had even secretly let lacy tune in to some of her private moments with her boyfriend, giving her the password and then spending three hours with her in chat later to talk about it - just two girls and girl talk. What could have been better?




The Sentinel Ch. 02



Their principle topic of discussion was their respective boyfriends which, for any sophomore college coed, was the most important class they were taking that year and required their complete attention and of course, full investigation. 

And so, the next hour was lacy and suzi catching up, chatting about classes and professors, clothes and boyfriends. Girls doing girl things. An interesting note at the end being suzi's announcement that Todd, her boyfriend, was taking his video camera and laptop home with him for the holidays so they could keep in touch, and she was going to do the same. How on earth had their parents survived the holiday's way back when, in the 60's and 70's? Lacy agreed with suzi on that point and was sure she didn't know either. Suzi really had no idea the impact her naked body was having on the Sentinel as she sat there painting her nails between chats. Nor did she see the wad of Kleenex as it dropped to the floor to add to the clutter of the Sentinel's nest.

*****

Jack faced his first solo venture into the real world with some trepidation. It started at the elevator with the gathering of luggage and the checking of compartments for papers and documents - making sure his passport was there, eight thousand dollars cash, his credit cards, and one duffle type bag of clothing that consisted mostly of Dockers and Polo shirts. He had dug out an old pair of jeans and a few ratty-looking shirts, just in case he needed to fade into the background, as well as some new Nikes and a pair of old Converses he had come across in the back of his closet that should have been thrown away years ago. 

He had only explained to Michelle that he was taking some vacation, getting out of his 'fortress' for awhile to see what the real world was like out there. He'd given her a few instructions: the maid was to come once a week, keeping her on salary but letting her enjoy some time off; the refrigerator was to be cleared out; and he would let her know a few days before that he was returning so that it could be restocked. He also had Michelle book a flight to L.A. - first class, please. He wasn't sure how hard it would be to travel with a wheelchair, but he did know he wanted to be at the front of the plane.

Before leaving his apartment, he went to check the computer room one last time. It was the first time since Lisa's death that his electronic connection to the outside world had been shut off, and he still found it a little eerie to walk in and not hear the whir of the cooling fans or see the glow of the screens. But all was in order; machines shut down and locked with boot drive passwords. If anything happened to him, the hard drives would never be read again. They would have to be taken out and thrown away, and new drives put into the machines if they were to be used.

Walking to his office, he checked one last time to see that his scrapbook and the three letters he had left were locked in the safe. Each letter was clearly marked on the outside with guidelines designating under which circumstances they were to be opened and by whom. With all in order, he closed the safe and spun the dial. One last look at Lisa and him asleep on the wall and he was off. He called downstairs to let the guards know he would be leaving. No, he wouldn't need any help; in fact, he preferred to do it all himself. Pushing his wheelchair in front of the elevator, he surrounded himself with his duffle bag, computer hard case, and Lisa's carry-on computer bag and sat down to wait. With cameras all over the building, it was important he continue to be the same Jack they knew him as - a paraplegic in a wheelchair. The soft ding announced the arrival of the elevator, and Jack pushed the duffle bag in front of his wheelchair while carrying the other two bags on his lap. Hitting S1, he was off.

Rolling out onto the concrete pad in front of the elevators, he pulled the van keys out and pushed the 'Find Me' button with trepidation. He had seen it work once, but it just seemed so strange to hear an engine start and after about five minutes have his van pull up beside him at the curb and stop to await his next request. He glanced at the camera beside the elevators before he wheeled up to the side of the van and pushed another button on the key chain which opened the side door so he could stow the luggage. Pushing another button caused an electronic side lift to swing out and lower a platform so he could wheel on and be lifted into the van. From there, he pushed buttons on an inside console that moved the driver's seat back and stowed it out of site so he could wheel his chair behind the steering wheel and lock it in place. 

The system was the result of a joint venture between Mercedes and Cal Tech. The developers had shown a small documentary of another van driving itself across the U.S.; its only occupants were a camera man in the backseat and a 'navigator' that sat up front in the passenger seat watching a GPS screen and portable computer that indicated what the van's computers were doing or contemplating as their 'next action.' Four high-definition cameras pointing forward, a wide angle camera to each side, and four more high-definition cameras to the back kept track of all that was happening around the van. One basis for optimal operation was the high-contrast lines that were found painted on most U.S. highways and roads. Most had been painted to strict specifications, and it had only been a question of being able to identify those lines - to know where the vehicle was in relation to them and then where the other vehicles and obstacles on the road might be. A sophisticated system of servos and motors actually drove the van using five onboard computers in a rack behind the rear door; the van had more computing power than the space shuttle. Two computers were in use at any given moment to drive the van while two others were available to take over in case of a failure. The fifth acted as a monitoring system to display all that was happening through a dashboard display and a heads-up display.

If Jack had wanted to, he could have found the airport terminal and gate in the computer and let the van drive him there before sending it back home to park again. But instead, he chose to use the normal controls available to other people who might need to move or drive it for him. Waving at the guard on his way out, Jack was off. 

Arriving at the airport, he parked in short term and stepped out like any other normal person, grabbing his bags and heading for the check-in counter. He made a quick call to Michelle to tell her where the van could be picked up and to ask if someone could come by with the extra keys to take it back to its parking place. He was sure it would be there, tank full, upon his return. Taking out the wheelchair, a generic green that could be found in most nursing homes, Jack pushed it into the terminal and left it beside another one by a counter as if returning it after use. A clerk looked up and smiled a 'thank you', and Jack was off.

After so much time in his cocoon, the thing that bothered Jack the most was the noise. Constant and distracting, he found it hard not to withdraw into himself as he walked through the concourse. Had it always been like this or had he become more sensitive? Checking in, he found they were ready to board and was relieved to finally be in the plush leather of first class, seated on the aisle at the very front. No, he didn't require handicapped assistance; it must have been a glitch in their system, but it was still great to be in the first row.

It was strange that Jack had never turned on Lisa's computer. He had sat in front of it several times - screen open, adapter connected, waiting - but had never been able to push the button and call it to life. When they were in the air and the first round of service had been carried out, Jack sat once again in front of the machine - the adapter once again plugged in, charging the battery, as he stared at the black screen sipping a scotch. What would he find? Would he find her image there? Would she be smiling and laughing as she was most of their time spent with each other on cam? Would she be sultry and sexy as he sometimes found her when he was away for a particularly long trip? Or would he be forced to live those last ten minutes once again? Would he see the gun as it went slowly into her mouth, see the tears as they streamed down her cheeks, and her shuddering as the barrel choked her? Would he hear the shot again as the killer took from Jack all he was - his friend and confident, his lover and mate.

Palms sweaty, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, willing the vision to go away with the concentration of a sick person trying not to vomit. The little girl's voice didn't register at first, but the beep of the computer coming on did. Jack jerked, eyes open wide, to find an eight-year-old standing beside his seat saying her daddy had one of those, too, and he always let her turn it on. Dazed for a second, Jack finally thanked her as she was ushered back to her seat where her mother had fallen asleep. The stewardess apologized and wanted to know if he would like his drink refilled. And with that, there it was; her machine had started running only to stop at the log in password prompt, user name Lisa - ready to load if she would please put in the proper password.

Jack just stared as he recalled their chat about passwords; it had been fun as they defined the general outline of what they would use for passwords but not telling what they were, playing for hours at guessing the other's password. They had wanted to make sure they could get into each other's machines if needed but didn't want to make it too easy, preferring the challenge of exercising their intellect.

Lisa's had been fairly simple. She was fourteen when she first kissed a boy so her number would always have fourteen characters. She lived on the telephone so she had chosen combinations of phone numbers to get in with. The phone numbers should be unlisted to make it an even bigger challenge and no longer in use by the original owner. "There, Jack, that should make it pretty much impossible." She had enjoyed watching Jack contemplate. Then she had seductively unbuttoned the first button of her blouse and told Jack he could have a button for each number he got right, and if he could actually get them in the right order, the clothes would come off. They had both had fun that afternoon - she in Chicago and Jack in New York. Jack dove for his phone and called a friend of his father's that worked in security. Supplying a little personal information about Lisa and her family and twenty minutes later, Jack had a fax list of six phone numbers with names, dates, and addresses beside them. Scanning the list, he discarded the house she had lived in until she was six, guessing she was too young to know the number. Two others that belonged to an Aunt when she was young were also discarded. One listed as her father's personal phone number at the office until two years ago was a good candidate, and another was an old mobile number she had used in college, also unlisted. The last was an apartment number she had for his use only which had changed a few months previous when she had moved.

He could still recall the challenging grin on her face as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms daring him to try. He was sure her father's old office number was one so he grinned sheepishly and started reading off numbers out of order. Her smile faded slowly as he finished the seven digits, and she realized he had marked off seven of the fourteen numbers. And then she made her mistake. She had actually told him he had guessed seven of the numbers. Looking quickly at the other numbers on the list, it took him another five minutes while listening to her admonish him in order to figure out that none of the other numbers could be it. And then, he had it. Looking up, he smiled, the crooked little boy smile of his that used to be Mom's favorite and was now reserved exclusively for her. Yes, she recognized it; she knew what it meant, and her reaction was immediate. The sixteen-year-old came out as she banished his foolish thoughts with a flick of her hand. "No way, Jack, I'm not taking off my clothes on this cam. Forget it. People can get into these things, and they'll see me. Besides, you've seen me several times - live and in color. What do you need to see me on a cam for?" But you'd convinced her, hadn't you, Jack? You had talked her into it as you did so many other times in your lives together. 

It was a guess as to which number was first, but you had read her father's number in order and stopped, your grin as big as ever as you sat there to gloat a little. Then, very slowly, you had read out your old private number from your last apartment. She had objected and protested, but one by one, each piece of clothing had come off and been thrown to the floor. By the time she was down to her panties, she had gotten into it some. By the time the panties hit the floor, so had you, and that had been it. That had been the start of your cybersex experiences with Lisa. It wasn't a place the two of you had gone often, but it was a place that you both had found rewarding and fulfilling when needed - when actual physical contact just wasn't possible.

The stewardess with his fresh drink brought Jack back to the present, and he finally reached for the keyboard and typed the numbers. Password accepted. The machine began to load the software. A few minutes later and with very little fanfare, Jack found himself looking at the same picture he had hanging in his study as the wallpaper for her desktop. It was not a shock for he had known it was there, but the stark reality shook him a little.

Now what to do? He had never really taken his train of thought far enough to know what he might find or what to look for; he just knew he needed to look, just in case. Getting past the question of what might be found, he quickly went to the chat program and checked to see if, by chance, she had managed to record what took place. It wasn't something they did, but if she had time to get the sound muted, she might have had time to turn on the recorder without the killer seeing. But no, nothing was there. It left Jack relieved; he could not imagine watching it again. A quick scan of her 'My Photos' folder had rendered only personal pictures of family and friends, most of which he had on his own machine - nothing out of the ordinary there. Moving on to Lisa's 'My Documents' folders had shown him a list of numbered documents in Word and Excel - no titles or names, just numbers. Being a corporate lawyer, Lisa had been very careful of office documents that she might be working on at home. Three-digit numbers were used with the client designated by the first number and the document number by the second two. He browsed those quickly and found nothing of interest. If it were there, he was sure he'd never get past the document password; he would have no clue at all how.

Turning to her mail program, he clicked on the Outlook icon and found another password. Ten minutes later, after running the gambit of personal phone numbers they both used, he was in. It was set to check the mail on start up, and Jack had to wait a minute before he could check her mail folders because the machine decided no line was available, and it went off line. Moving quickly to 'Tools', he found the 'Options' menu choice and quickly changed the settings so the machine would no longer check for mail to make future access easier.

Scanning the folders, he discarded the ones he knew she used for work and him, looking instead for some other personal folder that might contain correspondence with someone else - someone unknown - the killer. At last, he found a folder named 'Other' and browsed slowly, scrolling down the list of mails. A few addresses he recognized - Juan and his sisters, a few college friends she had talked about, and some household business mails on paying bills and ordering books and music; even her grocer and butcher shop was there. There was also a florist that had been used three times - the last time a week before her death to send flowers to the last recipient, Jan Cranston in Miami. The note was to read 'Thanks so much, Lisa', and she was to be billed. Making a mental note to give the recipient a call and see if she knew anything, he moved on; it was probably a colleague that had helped on a case. Lisa had always said flowers were best for two things - a 'thank you' or an 'I love you'. But nothing else was out of the ordinary, no clues to take him to the killer.

He had almost missed it. Even though it was highlighted with a (2) beside it, he had looked past the 'Drafts' folder a couple of times. Clicking to open, he found two messages in draft. The first was addressed to him. His mind froze when he saw the subject, "I love you". Gently closing the lid on the computer, he pushed the tray table away and stood. He had to walk, had to let his mind wander before opening the mail. Her last words to him had been 'I love you'. And there it was; she had managed to say it again. He was sure it was one of their customary discussions of life, love, and devotion - something they never seemed to tire of and always found new details to highlight. But then he realized it may not be a coincidence; maybe, she wanted him to find the mail. Maybe a clue was to be found there.

Closing the restroom door, he returned to his seat and opened the machine again. Clicking on the mail, his first observation was that it was slightly longer than usual at two pages. Jack read as carefully as possible under the circumstances as his mind stumbled through the phrases - some familiar, some their mutual declarations, but two paragraphs were of particular interest.

"I have a surprise for you, Jack. One, I know many men would love and one, that only I can give you. No silly, I'm not pregnant, but maybe we can talk about that one soon. I want to tell you before I give you this special gift just how much I love you. The gift will never change us, Jack, no matter what you might think. I guess it might to some degree because it might add a new dimension to our definition of 'us', but that will be completely up to you and me.

I also want you to know before I give you my gift that you should enjoy it completely. Don't be afraid or worried about what I might think. I'm part of the gift, and if you don't enjoy it, then you wouldn't be enjoying me. So, some quiet Sunday afternoon soon, you will be surprised when we find each other. I do hope you enjoy, Jack; I've been contemplating this for a couple of months and finally found a way to make it happen."

Reading the letter again, he could find nothing specifically different or distinctive but those two paragraphs. There was reference to their meal the week before, a quick note about her coming week's schedule, and the normal assurances and wishes they always shared. Her closing was a little different in that it read 'I love you' instead of the usual 'Love, Lisa'. It struck Jack as odd, and he wondered if maybe it spoke of the two earlier paragraphs. She seemed to want to reinforce her love for him.

Minimizing the letter, he looked at the next mail in the 'Drafts' folder. There was no address. It seemed she hadn't finished it. Opening it, Jack found it was addressed to 'Darling Jan'. Wait, she had sent flowers to Jan shortly before her death. At first the letter was confusing, but then Jack was able to piece it all together.

I hope you don't mind the intimate opening, Jan, but thinking back to our long, late night chats it seems appropriate. It's funny that this is the first time a mail will actually be sent between us, but I felt a need to sit down calmly and open my mind to you completely. I know we had agreed not to exchange mail in order to avoid a possible emotional entanglement that we might regret in order to keep it safe for you and I as well as Jack and Hank, but please allow me this one indulgence. It won't happen again. 




The Sentinel Ch. 02



My Jack is such a wonderful man, really quite the catch, if that's important, but for me, it's the person. He is caring and giving, strong and gentle, much like you have described your Hank. And Jack is driven; the loss of his parents is largely to blame, but I feel some part of him just likes to win. I think he likes it out there on the edge, not really sure what will happen next but sure he will be able to deal with it. Yes, that's Jack. 

And you...that's another story. I never thought I would say this about another woman and really mean it, but you're beautiful. You have a body a woman not only admires but is attracted to. I want you to understand and believe me when I say I have never done anything like this before. While it scares me at a level that I have trouble identifying, it also excites me at a level I recognize completely - lust. I want you, Jan. I want to share you with Jack and Hank. I want to feel your skin under my fingers, your lips touching mine, the swell of your nipples as I pinch softly. Jan, don't panic. I know it will be the first time for you, too, but I want to taste you, all of you. There, I said it. I wanted you to know. I don't want to beat around the bush. I want Jack to enjoy, and if I'm going to experience this for him, I want you to know. I want to experience it all.

I'm not planning on telling Jack. I'm only telling him I have a surprise for him. Are you telling Hank? I know he'll be tuning in, but will it be a surprise for him or will he know before hand?

Well, Jan, let me close with a warm hug - girl to girl but more than friends, and tell you I am very excited and will be looking forward to meeting you for the first time at the airport next Friday. I'll pick you up and have a room for you, well...if you feel you need your own room. If not, I have a much warmer place in bed with me.

Yours,

Lisa 

Jack just sat there a minute staring at the screen. It became obvious; Lisa had met a woman named Jan and was planning on going to bed with her and from the looks of the letter - making love to her. Between the two letters, it seemed driven by a desire to please him, to give him something 'every man would love' that 'only she' could give him. At the same time, he could read a desire awakened in Lisa. She wanted to try it at least once, to find out. Jan was the only unusual contact Jack could find in her mail program, and the letter didn't have an address. But going back to the flower order, he was sure it was her, and there was her address. 

Could she have done it? Hank? Had he discovered them and become enraged? But that didn't explain the other killings unless it had pushed him over the edge. A search of all folders yielded no other mention of the name or word 'Jan' in subject or text. Going through Lisa's address book gave no clues either. It seems she didn't have the address or at least, hadn't put it in yet. Thinking of the chat programs, he tried to open them and see who was on her buddy list before he realized no information could be given until he logged in on-line.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pond, but you'll have to put that away now. We're on final approach to L.A."

And so he had. There wasn't much he could do now, anyway. The real question was, did he go straight to a ticket counter and fly to Miami, or did he check into a hotel and investigate the P.O. Box as well as Lisa's buddy lists?

*****

It was so easy to do. With the electronic barrier, people felt somehow safer inviting you into their homes, their kitchens, onto their patios, and into their pools. People seemed to like the safe thrill of scanty clothing and intimate places when chatting on cam. No, no one could touch them, get close to them; there was no physical threat - well, none that they could see.

They would invite you into their bedrooms, and for some reason, the female chatters seemed to enjoy inviting you to the shower with them. They luxuriated in a nice, thick lather, their bodies glistening in the water as they knew you were looking on. They lavished in the idea that you, whoever you might be, were sitting in front of your own computer aroused, eyes glued to the monitor so you didn't miss a thing. They would lean out of the shower and glance at the monitor to see what comments you might type in - to see if you were playing the part of a tentative lover as they became more intimate with you than anyone else they'd known.

Sitting in the nest of filth and stench, the Sentinel watched her as she lathered between her legs - the Sentinel's own legs shifting, thighs tightening as the bather's hands lingered to play in the soap awhile. Turning to lean back into the shower spray, the Sentinel didn't breathe as her breasts came out, a beautiful profile against the white of the shower wall. With shampoo in a hand, white soap suds cascaded down her back, highlighting the shape of her ass while her eyes closed and her mouth opened to breath. The Sentinel suddenly felt completely alone with her - the smell of the soap and shampoo; the feel of the heat from the water; soap sliding on her skin beneath the Sentinel's fingers; her nipple, a hard bump that excited more with a touch.

Looking to the right, the Sentinel could see him. The two of them had been chatting for six months now, and there he sat, leaning back in his computer chair, pants around his ankles, t-shirt pushed up exposing his stomach as his hand moved up and down, squeezing his cock as he watched her shower. The Sentinel waited for the moment, looking from one cam window to the next, enjoying a certain power knowing no one else was watching them. No one else was sharing this moment. No one else had taken the time to know them as the Sentinel had, to be their friends, learn their secrets, and guess their passwords. 

The Sentinel guarded the notebook as many would a wallet or purse; the scribbles and passwords were more important to the Sentinel than life itself. All carefully catalogued and ordered, the notebook would never be put on a machine where it might be hacked. The Sentinel had a world of people: parts of addresses, names of respective other halves, birthdays and anniversaries. All was given freely in public chat rooms; all was available with a little sleuthing, including most of the secret passwords that locked the world out and made this oh-so-public medium, private and safe - or so they all thought.

Then it happened. The man jerked and lifted his hips, a stream of white shooting onto his stomach. Looking quickly at the other cam, the Sentinel saw she was aware; she was participating as she looked out of the shower at her computer, one leg propped up on the edge of the shower tub while her hands worked frantically between her thighs, pushing, probing, sliding. The Sentinel could feel it now, soft and warm, yet hard as the lips were spread and her clit pressed. The Sentinel's breathing stopped, a small sound escaped the Sentinel's throat as the girl jerked her back, head going into the water, her fingers stiff on her thighs from the effort.

With a release of air and a sigh, the Sentinel thought, at last, something to push Monday Night Football out of first place. With that, another Kleenex fell to the floor.



The Sentinel Ch. 03



The only flight to Miami had been shortly after midnight so Jack had checked to see what airport hotel offered in-room internet ports before checking into the Marriott. Pulling his duffle bag up onto the bed, Jack pulled out his shaving kit for a quick shower before connecting Lisa's laptop, leaving it open on the room desk. Calling reception, he obtained the information he needed to log on. Calling room service, he ordered a salad and something to drink; then he settled in for a couple of hours of computer sleuthing.

Going to the hotmail icon first, he clicked to see what would happen. The buddy list box opened, and he waited as it tried to log in. A small message came up to tell him it was 'Attempting to sign in'. At last, the white box returned to the 'Sign me in' message, and a grey error box appeared in the middle of his screen, informing him that his account was no longer active and instructing him to go to the hotmail site to reactivate. 

He wasn't surprised; it had been over two years since the account was last used. Logging into the browser, he found the site and a small blue link labeled, 'Trouble signing in?' Following the link, he was taken to a page that immediately recognized Lisa's .Net passport and prompted him to answer her 'secret question'. The question, cryptic at best, could be his stumbling block. 'I am?' was all it asked. Jack looked at it and wondered. You are, well, were... what? A girl? A human? A lawyer? Purple, green, blue or maybe blond? An earthling? Damn, this would take a minute. Hitting minimize, he went to the next chat icon and opened Yahoo. Unfortunately, it stopped and prompted for user name and password. He knew the user name but failed miserably with the password and after three attempts, was locked out for an hour - no further attempts allowed. Damn. 

Going to her 'Start' menu, he looked at her list of most recently used programs to see what he could find. Maybe, there was another chat program he didn't know about. Word was first, MSN second, Excel fourth, control panel next, followed by Photo Shop. Lisa only reserved six places for frequently used programs, and it looked like Jack was batting zero. 

Switching to 'Most Recent Documents', Jack saw a long list, mostly on Word or Excel, that Lisa had worked on shortly before her death. There were a few photos he'd sent of their last trip together, but there, among the photos he recognized, was another he didn't. It was linked to Photo Shop with nothing but a series of numbers as a name. Clicking the document, a small hour glass came up as Photo Shop loaded, and suddenly, Jack was looking at a request for a password. Damn, now what? The name of the photo was 64811.jpg, and she had password-protected it. Hitting minimize again, he went back to 'Recent Documents' and clicked on one he had sent to her. It opened nicely, and there was Lisa in a small white bikini bottom, smiling at the camera as a wave washed up around her ankles. She was topless and proud of it, or at least, not worried enough about someone seeing it to password protect it; Jack closed the picture and went back to the other. After a few attempts at phone numbers failed, Jack sat a minute thinking. She was hiding it from me, or it would be a guessable password. But we had no secrets; why hide it from me? Then it struck him. They had one secret, and that was Jan.

With that, his meal arrived, and he sat quietly beside the laptop as he ate and contemplated what to do next.

Going back to Outlook, Jack pulled up the mail to the florist again and checked. Yes, there was a phone number in case of delivery problems. Going back to the picture, he typed in the same number. His reward was the sound of the hard drive as the picture loaded. And there she was - Jan - lying nude on her back in the sand on a beach, head propped on a pillow, sunglasses pushed up on her forehead, lips parted with a cross between a sheepish grin and seductive smile. At least, Jack guessed it was Jan. And Lisa had been right. She was beautiful - olive skin, black naturally curly hair, firm breasts, beautiful hips, and a neatly trimmed pubic patch. The picture was from below the knees to above the head, showing a beach bag and a matching straw hat off one ear. A beer, Corona, by her hip spoke of Mexico, but that could just as well be Miami or any of several other countries where Corona is exported and sold on a regular basis.

Hitting the save button, Jack left the picture on the desktop for quick printing. Pulling up the photo of Lisa on the beach, Jack decided to do the same with it. Going back to Outlook, Jack did a search on the number 64811 which rendered nothing.  

How had the picture arrived? Downloaded during a chat probably. Selecting 'Search' from the 'Start' menu, Jack went to 'Document Search' and selected 'Detailed Search'; then checked 'Word or phrase in any part of the document'. Entering "64811" and telling the program to look on all hard drives, Jack hit 'Start Search' and waited.

Watching the progress bar, Jack was afraid there would be no results, but suddenly, two documents appeared in the window to the right of the 'search' menu - one titled "Got it.txt" and the other "Here's one for you.txt"

Clicking the first, "Got it.txt", Jack watched the notebook open with lines of text in alternating colors down the page. Scrolling a little, he discovered it was a fairly short chat that Lisa had saved. He stopped chewing his last bite of salad when he noticed the names. Jan and Lisa had chatted, or at least, Jan was the name used as a screen name, and from the disclaimer at the beginning of the message, it appeared to be in MSN. Scanning through it, Jack found the video request and knew they had been watching each other. It was interesting to note that Jan had requested, and Lisa had accepted. About midway through the chat, Jack saw where Jan had requested permission to download a document to Lisa, and once again, Lisa had accepted.

Looking at the bedside clock radio, Jack saw he only had two hours before he needed to be at the gate. Having checked into his next flight before leaving the terminal, he had saved some time and could arrive at almost the last minute.

Instead of taking the time to read the chat, Jack also saved it to the desktop for printing before checking out. 

Clicking on the next document, Jack found it to be a much longer chat which appeared to be MSN again. This time the cam request came from Lisa and was accepted by 'Home alone Jan' - a telling name change, Jack thought. There was a file transfer request at the end, initiated by Lisa and accepted by Jan. Checking the document name, Jack saw Lisa had sent her own beach picture. Just before the file transfer request, there was a brief reference to Jan's pic, 64811, which explained why the document came up on the search. Skimming through the document, it became apparent they had made love, but checking his watch again for the time, Jack realized he needed to leave and saved the document to the desktop along with the other three.

Closing all the programs and windows he had opened, Jack shut the computer down and headed for the shower before catching a shuttle back to airport terminal. It was a lot to handle in one day, but some of the pieces made sense. He still didn't know who Jan was, but he did know that Lisa had been attracted to her to the point of engaging in a little cybersex, and that she had also trusted Jan enough to invite her to her home and into her bed with the idea of giving Jack a special gift. All this seemed to have taken place in the two months prior to her death. Thinking back, Jack recalled two trips he had taken that were both longer than a week with several hit and miss chats with Lisa during that time. Yes, Lisa had had a little extra time on her hands and may have felt lonely. 

Stepping out of the shower to dry, Jack felt odd but better. He finally had some information to work on. Dressed and ready to go, Jack stopped by the 'Business Center' and printed his documents before paying his room bill and heading out. His resolve had become stronger, and yes, he was sure he was getting closer but was starting to wonder at what cost.

*****

"I don't care if you've finally discovered who shot John Kennedy; if you don't bring me some results by the end of the year, I am shutting you down, Woo." Captain Aldridge could be such a jerk sometimes. Turning on her heel, Sgt. Woo strode out of the Captain's office and back to her desk amid a chorus of murmured follow-ups to Aldridge's ass-chewing.

"What's the matter, Woo, gonna have to start working again?"

"Gee, Woo, you think it would help if we went in and told him how much you mean to the team?"

"C'mon, Woo, maybe you can do a show for us later," followed by sophomoric laughter and a loud congratulations for the winner that had come up with that one. Woo thought she'd like to congratulate him with a Browning 9 mm slug between the eyes.

Sitting at her desk, she wondered if maybe she didn't really deserve the ass-chewing to some degree. It had been more than two years since the first murder and three months since the last, and aside from a database full of unreadable names and addresses that she had linked to dates and times plus some really well-organized work notes, she had nothing but conjecture, and even that was pretty thin. But she could see it, the pattern; she knew she could break this, and these idiots were just that - a bunch of idiots.

Picking up the phone, Linda Woo called down to Systems and asked for Tom, a good lunch buddy and 'Head Nerd' for the government's Internet Crimes Bureau - a new organization created a few years back to try and help out local crime fighting officials with any crime involving use of the internet. Its focus, so far, had been child pornography, fraud, and information theft. Execution of a violent crime, especially one involving murder, was a first for the department, and a whole string of them was unheard of. When you got right down to it, Linda knew she was heading up the biggest serial killer hunt currently active in the U.S. 

"Tom, hi. How ya doin', babe?" Tom knew better than to fall for the 'isn't life great' act. Linda sounded like shit; the captain must have fallen on her hard. But the banter was part of their relationship, and Tom returned in kind. "Hey, sweetie, I am nothing but F. I. N. E.," spelling out the word 'fine' for emphasis. "Hell, if I was any finer, I would be lunch today instead of asking you to lunch," with an emphasis on 'be'.

"Okay, Tom, meet you in reception in five." Hanging up the phone, Linda had to smile; she could always count on Tom. As a Cal Tech's Computer Science number two graduate with a second PHD in Mathematics and a special consultant to the top three software manufacturers in the world, Tom was probably the most intelligent person in the building with an IQ that made Mensa look like a 4-H club. At the same time, he shunned convention, had no idea what a dress code was, and would tell the director of the ICB to 'shove it where the sun don't shine' and smile doing it. Linda knew; she'd seen him do it once.

She had been feeding Tom raw data with no particular order to it and was waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of his hat. Tom had been the only one who had bought into her crazy theory, and, after today's meeting with the captain, may be the only one that could save her ass.

Having come from the FBI, she was the only ICB member with training in crime scene forensics as well as a Computer Science degree and experience in the Sex Crimes division of ICB where she had hunted down child pornographers. Linda was the first and only candidate to head up the investigation when the second 'OSK' had taken place. The first 'on- screen killing' had dropped below the radar screen when local authorities had decided it was a grudge killing targeted at the unhappy survivor, a one Jack Pond, East Coast billionaire and prep school grad. Everyone was sure that anyone with that much money was bound to have enemies and that Mr. Pond had let one of those enemies get out of hand.

But then, the second murder had been the same M.O. Although committed against a gay couple - one, a struggling artist that was out of town at an art show, and the other, unemployed and looking for a job - a check through NCIC, the National Crime Information Computer, in Washington D.C. had turned up Lisa's murder. From there, it had been downhill as subsequent murders fit the M.O. exactly. The only variances had been the gender and social standing of the victims which was the opposite pattern of most serial murders; the perpetrator usually looked for victims who represented 'something' to their twisted minds. That generally meant the victims looked similar, dressed similar, and had similar buying habits, educational backgrounds, and life styles. Essentially, the serial killer was killing the same person over and over, trying to work out some twisted logic that said the elimination of that 'type' of person would make it all right again - make the demons go away and make 'Johnny' feel right again.

The interesting thing about this case was that the only common factor was the use of video chat to keep in touch with someone on a regular basis. There were no apparent similarities or gender preferences. Some were working professionals, and some were looking for jobs. It just didn't fit the mold for the normal 'serial killer' profile so Linda had taken a different approach. Due to distances involved between crime scenes and the relative short time frame between crimes, she had discarded the idea of actually looking for the killer on the streets because forensics, at all the murder scenes, had found nothing. She based her investigation on information she gathered concerning chat patterns: who was logged into what chat, for how long, and when, as well as how often, and who they might be chatting with during their log on time. It was truly like looking for a pattern in a bedspread that covered more than 150 million people in the U.S. alone.

All of this would have been a relatively simple task in the bigger scheme of things if the civil liberties people hadn't started crying 'foul play' and 'invasion of privacy' when Linda bounced her idea off the higher echelon for approval. It was simple actually. Take a room and fill it with computers and mega-sized hard drives. Link them all into one point on the internet and require any chat service, operating within the U.S., to provide a database of every person that logged onto their system in the last 24 hours with name of user, date and time of log on, and date and time of log off. Add to this who they chatted with (if not in a public room), and you had it made. Dump all this information into the agency super computer and have it look for contact patterns with the victims prior to the crime, and you would find who had gained enough confidence through chat to get into the victims' houses without a pried or jimmied door, broken piece of glass, or a single phone call to the police,.

Once you had the chat names or mail addresses - the short list of suspects, so to speak - you put computerized text sniffers on their internet port connections and started monitoring their traffic - some live monitoring, but most of it 'key word' monitoring, using a computer to sift through the conversations and flag them if a word or phrase of interest were used. But with a Supreme Court hearing pending on indiscriminate monitoring of any type, for any individual, regardless if you didn't know who that individual was, the electronic monitoring had been shelved for the moment.

Undeterred, Linda had commandeered a small three-story building across the street from the ICB building and combed the public chat rooms to find a staff of sixty 'chatters' to work three shifts of twenty. They were to skulk around the public chat rooms, taking notes, making contact, chatting up the people, and trying to 'stay on top' of as much chat traffic as possible. Each 'chatter' manned four computers and had a fifth for inputting data that was linked to a queue in Tom's department where he would organize the information and send it on to the super computer for analysis - ordered chaos at best and a very loose pattern of coverage. Tom had calculated Linda's chances at 26,341,322 to 1 for catching her killer but had put her odds at 2,256 to 1 for finding the pattern. Even identifying the chatter didn't guarantee success since cybertracks were fairly easy to cover up. Considering the odds, it was a surprise when the ICB director signed off on Linda's plan, giving her the go-ahead and the budget to back it up.

"Where you off to, Woo? To hold hands with your SFP's?" John Liter was not someone Linda wanted to see right now. An ICB recruit from NYPD, John was older and more experienced at 'old school' investigation techniques as well as being the department's model racist-macho asshole. His designation of Linda's 'Chatters' as SFP's referred to 'sticky- fingered perverts', the name the rest of ICB called them behind their back. The feeling that Linda's funding could be spent on more important investigations and crimes than supporting a bunch of 'perverts' sitting around computers watching 'Mabel' take a shower, or 'Fred', while he chatting with Mabel, 'choke his chicken' and 'shoot a big one' had contributed to a fair share of animosity in the office.

"Off to lunch, John. Going to get some carryout and go back to catch the show. I hear a couple of gay black guys are doing a good 'show' at noon, and I don't want to miss it. Care to join me?"

"Sick. You're all a bunch of friggin' perverts, Woo. And you know what?" John leaned closer before he continued, his face a little too contorted for comfort, "I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't have the perp working for you." With that, John turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Linda wondering what she could do to stop it - to make it all go away. How she could get her life back and move on without loosing face? She was starting to think John was right - not that she had the perpetrator working for her - but her department had spent more than $5 million dollars and for what?

Finding Tom in reception, they headed off for a deli around the corner to get a bite and talk over latest developments. Tom was always a soft place to land, and Linda felt relaxed and more confident as soon as they sat down. Being black, Tom knew all too well what racism was about and had made it very clear to John and a few others in the department that he wasn't going to take that shit. The fact that Tom was happily married to a redhead of Irish descent just rubbed the salt into the wound for John. The fact that Tom's wife was a bank executive for one of the bigger banks in the country had made it worse.

"What's up, Slick?" Tom always called Linda 'Slick' and somehow managed to make it sound like an endearment.

"Same old shit, Tom. The Captain wants to shut me down, and John wants to throw gasoline on the bonfire while all my 'perverts' cry out for mercy."

"Hey, not to worry, good ol' Uncle Tom is going to save the day." She had to smile; he loved to keep the racial references just below the surface. "I have a shorter short list for you, Slick. Let's say they're handpicked. The computer had kicked them out with the other five thousand or so names on the short list, but I did a little more work on it this morning, adding a few special flags of my own, and this is what I got back."

Handing her eleven sheets of paper, Tom enjoyed the reaction. Her eyes wide and mouth open in an exclamation, Tom interrupted to continue. "There are 537 names and chat addresses on there. If you check your computer, you'll be able to pull them up and get the skinny on them: chat patterns, topics, and a photo of some of them that we were able to get off their chat cams. The extra criteria were the trick. While a lot of people may have two or even three chat names, these people have all been identified with more than 10 each. One actually has 23. Those are the names we've been able to identify using information available to the public, meaning - in chat or through other identifiers available on the internet. At the same time, we have to recognize that this is only scratching the surface. Our killer may be too smart and may not have even been detected yet. And none of the names within a group are ever on-line at the same time. If we're lucky, our killer has made a mistake and uses only one identification at any given time."




The Sentinel Ch. 03



Tom was right. They could be looking in the barn while the killer was still running around in the field, and when you got right down to it, the field was pretty damn big. But it was a big help, and the best filtering they'd done so far. Folding the papers, Linda put them in her purse and enjoyed a quiet hour with Tom, talking about family and his children, something Tom always enjoyed.

Heading across the street to her monitoring center, Linda mentally sorted through her people, wondering who was best to assign to the new list. Of course, she would take it home, also and include it in her after- hours sleuthing.

*****

Jack sat in a rental car in front of a white stucco office building in South Beach. His arrival at Miami Airport had been uneventful, and the need for a place to sit and watch had dictated a rental car. First, he had made sure that if he rented the car on his credit card now, as a guarantee against damages, that he could pay in cash upon return and have the pending credit card charge torn up. "Not a problem," they had assured him. Jack was concerned Michelle or Juan might notice the charge and wonder how he was managing to drive a car around.

Nine-thirty and Jan still hadn't arrived. He had done some quick work in the business center and printed just a head shot, as well as the full body shot of both Jan and Lisa. When what appeared to be the cleaning crew arrived, Jack had run across the street to see if Jan did, in fact, work there. Mention of an inheritance and his mission to locate the recipient had brought a smile and confirmation from the cleaning woman that stood on the stoop. Jack had also learned that the building belonged to a dot-com that had purchased it a few years back, as best she could remember. She wouldn't really talk about what they did, mostly because she didn't know. "Hey, I don't know nothin' 'bout them newfangled computers and stuff. Best ask Miss Jan," had been the reply.

And there she was, taller than she appeared in the photo; Jack put her at 5'9" and around 110 lbs. Wearing an A-cut white dress with matching shoes and handbag, oversized sunglasses and a light green straw sun hat that had a brim almost to the edge of her shoulders, she looked more like a celebrity hiding from the public than a woman on her way to work.

Waiting until she had entered the building and had a chance to settle, Jack locked the car and crossed the street to the entrance. Once inside, he was confronted with a shabby-looking lobby and a security guard that was sure Jack was there to piss on his fire hydrant. After much insistence, the guard finally called upstairs to tell Jan that 'there was some lawyer guy down here that wanted to see her.' Hanging up the phone, he enjoyed making Jack ask again if he could go up or if Jan would come down. "Oh, Jan, well... she'll be down, I reckon..." With a crooked smile that said 'fuck you, asshole', he closed with, "in awhile."

Thinking how nice it would be to fire this guy, Jack idly wondered how much it would cost to buy the place just for that purpose. He was brought out of his reverie by the apparition of Jan as she seemed to materialize from around the corner, having come down the stairs instead of using the elevator. But then, Jack caught the 'Out of order' notice and knew why.

Putting on his best 'I'm here to help smile', Jack put out his hand to greet Jan. Accepting the hand and Jack's presentation as "Jack Pond, private investigator", Jan gave her name. "Janet Cranston, how can I help you Mr. Pond?"

"Is there anyplace we can talk, Ms Cranston?" Up close and without the sunglasses, Jack put Jan at 35 years old. No wedding band, but a small bright stone spoke of engagement.

"And just what would you like to talk about, Mr. Pond?"

There seemed to be a quiet tolerance in Jan's voice that said, 'I know who you are, and you're not who you say you are'. Maybe frankness was in order. Being caught in a bold-faced lie, could ruin any chance Jack had of getting help from her.

"Let me be frank. I'm investigating a murder in Chicago from over two years ago, and a picture of you was found on the deceased's computer hard drive."

There was brief pause, long enough for Jack to realize Jan felt a little uncomfortable; then, "Maybe we should go upstairs to my office. This way, please." Jan lead Jack around the corner and up the stairs to the second floor where they went down a short hall that mirrored the space the lobby occupied, and then through the last door on the left. The building appeared to have been a four-story hotel built back in the 1920's when Art Deco had come in and left as soon as the depression had started to subside. Art Deco had enjoyed renewed popularity in the 1980's when South Beach had been a long strip of abandoned buildings and shabby hotels, looking for a purpose. With interest from and restoration by several West Coast celebrities, a lot of American history had been saved.

The 'office' or as Jack could see 'the hotel room' was nice. The floor was the original sea green marble; a door on the left suggested a bathroom; and a dark wood, probably teak, antique table served as a desk and workspace. It sat where the hotel bed would have once been and Jan sat at the head of the desk in a comfortable leather executive chair. Jack sat on the other side in a guest seat, taking in the few pictures and other personal items around the office. Jan began, "Who the hell are you, Mr. Jack Pond? Wait; let me tell you who you are. You're the asshole who left Lisa. If I had a gun, I'd shoot you for her, right now."

Jack had expected many reactions, but indignant protection of Lisa was not on the short list. He was completely at a loss and little confused. Seeing she had surprised him completely by knowing who he was, Jan continued as her voice became more stern and louder. "I've been with Lisa for a little more than two years now, and it's been a struggle just to keep her alive - to keep her from trying it again, and all for some rich kid that went to some Ivy League college that thinks Lisa, my Lisa, is just not 'good enough' for him. You aren't trying to find her, are you, because I will never tell you where she is!"

Jack could not believe what he was hearing. Left Lisa? Two years ago? Did this woman think Lisa had killed herself or, at least, tried and that he had left Lisa? At last, anger overcame confusion, and Jack jumped to his feet to lean across the desk, his best CEO intimidation look at the ready, and a finger stuck between them, pointing at Jan's nose. The movement had caught her attention, and Jack was able to talk softly which was probably the most intimidating voice for such a situation. "I don't know who you think you are, lady, or what you think is happening, but MY Lisa was murdered almost two years ago in her apartment while I was forced to watch on our chat hookup. I am here to see if something can be done about it, and I found your picture on her hard drive and your address where she had sent you flowers a week before being murdered."

The silence was palpable as Jack slowly straightened to compose himself and start breathing again. Turning away from Jan, he moved to a leather sofa on the wall behind his chair and sat to study Jan's reaction. For a few more seconds, she sat staring at the spot where Jack had stood a minute before. Then a red flush built, rising up her neck as her face contorted, and she turned away to sob into her hands - deep sobs, soulful sobs, sobs reserved for the loss of a loved one. Jack suddenly realized he had just told her that Lisa, someone she considered her Lisa, was dead – and not recently dead, but dead for most of their relationship, whatever that relationship might have been. 

Glancing around, he found the obligatory box of Kleenex kept in most executives' offices and retrieved one before moving behind the desk and offering it over Jan's shoulder from behind her chair. The reaction was quick and caught Jack off guard as Jan's chair slammed back into him. "Get the fuck out of my office, you asshole," came out between sobs as Jan grabbed the dropped Kleenex from her lap and wiped her face.

Stunned, Jack retreated to the couch and stood a minute, taking in the scene. Jan was devastated, and Jack was responsible. He felt almost as helpless as he had watching Lisa on the computer screen in his apartment that night as the killer mocked him, "Enjoy, Jackie boy." A sudden urge to not go on came over him - an urge to walk out the door, get in his car, and fly back to his beloved fortress where he could sit in his wheelchair the rest of his life and enjoy his quiet memories.

But no, this was no longer about just Lisa. This suddenly encompassed another human being - a beautiful woman that had fallen in love with Lisa - who was now suffering for it as Jack had. 

Walking to the door of what Jack hoped was a bathroom, he opened it hesitantly, expecting another tirade from Jan to 'get the fuck out' and found the light switch. Inside, was a full-sized bath, covered with the original one-inch Italian marble squares that covered much of the Art Deco buildings in South Beach. Jack openly gasped when he found himself staring at three photos beside the sink mirror. The top one was of Lisa in her bikini bottom on the beach - the same photo he had folded in his pocket. The second was a photo Jack had taken one night after barhopping in Chicago. It was of Lisa on her bed, kneeling in thigh highs and black heels - nothing more, staring at the camera with a 'come fuck me' look on her face as she wagged a finger at Jack, urging him up onto the bed with her. And the last was Jack's own office picture of the two of them asleep in Mexico. All of the pictures had been professionally printed because they lacked that washed-out look of a home or office printer, and all were framed in thin, gold-gilded frames that added a sunny shine to an otherwise all white bathroom.

Remembering what he came for, Jack found a washcloth to wet in the sink, wringing it out before taking it to Jan. He could still hear her quiet sobs and decided to make another attempt at comforting her. Stepping out, he stood a few feet away from Jan, washcloth in hand - a silent peace offering, as he waited for her to notice and respond.

Three minutes passed, and Jack waited, silently, as if this were some kind of test of his character. Finally, Jan straightened in her chair and shifted a little to smooth out her dress. Regarding Jack a short while, she finally reached out for the wash cloth which Jack dutifully carried forward, to hand over before retreating to the couch, hoping she would feel safer with the distance between them.

Standing, Jan moved to the bathroom, leaving the door open while she stood in front of the mirror to wash her face. As she turned for a towel, Jack could see her from his vantage point on the couch, gazing at Lisa's pictures. Jan placed the towel neatly back on the rack as if buying time before finally returning to her desk where she sat quietly, contemplating what to say next.

Jack decided it would be easier if he continued. "Let me explain what I know happened, and what I've put together since then. Maybe that will help the two of us make some sense out of all this."

He paused to see if there were any objections; then Jack sat talking quietly for almost an hour as he tried to put together the few pieces of the puzzle he possessed for Jan.

*****

It was hard for the Sentinel to understand exactly what had happened. At an intellectual level the Sentinel had analyzed and contemplated it, reaching for meaning and always coming back to the same depressing conclusion. It was over. Simple as that. The beautiful, joyful life the Sentinel had enjoyed before did not include staring at computer screens, skulking around in cyberspace, spying on people, intruding into their lives, and becoming a part of it. That life was gone.

They all seemed to be a bunch of babbling idiots to the Sentinel with no purpose in life or reason for being. They all lived double or triple lives while expecting their fellow chatters to be 'open and honest' at all times, or they would be 'banned' - a chatter's equivalent of 'go to jail', 'do not pass go', and 'do not collect $200 dollars'.

The Sentinel had watched them and seen it all. The Sentinel knew about the CEO at a certain address in Manhattan that spent hours after the office closed, glued to his computer screen, surfing for needy women. The Sentinel saw how he flirted and chided just to get the women to take their clothes off. Then he would sit in front of a camera, watching, playing with himself, until the end when he would beg them to tell him what a man he was before he erased them from his chat list and moved on.

The Sentinel knew about the little kids that got access to mom's or dad's computer when the parents were out and mimicked, so well, what they had seen mommy and daddy doing late one night in the dark before their camera. It was disgusting, and who could you blame but the fucking parents?

The Sentinel knew about the husbands and wives that cheated on their respective others through the little bits and bytes that sustained their extramarital relationships. The Sentinel also knew about the couples that came out to cheat together - to add the new dimensions to their disgusting, little lives. 

 

The Sentinel knew about the fifty-five- year-old school teacher in Indianapolis that had never married and came home from teaching fourth graders the proper way to add and subtract only to get out her 'leathers' and find some hot room on the internet to 'fuck her brains out', as she often said.

The Sentinel was human too. Why didn't people understand that? The Sentinel had feelings and desires as well as petty problems to be aired out in public forum. The Sentinel felt just as pathetic as the Sentinel thought the rest of them were and maybe even more so. It was just all too much sometimes. If it would just go away, if it could be stopped, then maybe, there was still a chance. Maybe, the Sentinel could lock the door on the 'nest' and move on, never returning to such a dark corner of the soul again. The Sentinel often thought of flushing the whole bunch of them down the fucking toilet of humanity and giving it a good Drano rinse. That always brought a crooked smile to the Sentinel's lips. 

If only...yes, thought the Sentinel, if only. But first, the Sentinel had to find them. The perfect couple. The couple ordained by God, selected to be cleansed, chosen by a small lobby of one to live the ultimate cyberthrill. The Sentinel knew it would happen and only prayed it would happen sooner than later.

*****

Jack sat patiently, watching Jan across the desk. Her face had gone from open skepticism to astonishment and finally to deep sorrow as she had put together the pieces as Jack had and realized that for the longest part of her relationship with Lisa, whomever she'd been chatting with was, in fact, someone else. It had to be - because she now believed that Lisa, her Lisa - her confidant and friend; the person that had needed her, needed her love; her lover that had woven such wonderful dreams for Jan in response to their love making - was dead.

"Are you still chatting with her - well, whomever it is that's parading as Lisa?"

"Yes. Almost everyday. Some days we have time to spend together, and sometimes we use snail mail. We e-mail back and forth and try to catch five or ten minutes to say hi in chat, but I don't recall a day in the last six months we haven't chatted."

It seemed like an awkward question but one that Jack had to ask. "How goes the relationship, Jan? Are you still close? Well... lovers?"

Jan hesitated as she turned away from Jack to stare out the window. "Yes, Jack, we are. We made love last night. We lingered and talked afterwards and made another date for this Saturday. By date, I mean to make love on cam in chat." With another slight hesitation, Jan explained further, "I would normally see Lisa tonight, but not now. I can't. I don't know what I'll do."

Jack had learned that there really was a Hank, but that he had died in a car accident about a month after Lisa, the real Lisa. Jan's 'cyber' Lisa had tried to commit suicide at what must have been about the same time as her real death and after recovery had refused to come back on cam. When they chatted now it was only Jan on cam, and Lisa would send the occasional photo from her 'past life' as a lover would send flowers to say 'thank you'. 'cyber' Lisa claimed to have been badly scarred to the point of deformity while trying to shoot herself in the head, but the gun had slipped and only blown off her jaw and one ear as it discharged into the wall behind her. Jack cringed at the accuracy of the detail even though the end result was misrepresented.

"You must, Jan. You have to see Lisa's killer so I can find him. There is no other way."

Jan was quiet as she sat and contemplated what it would be like to sit and chat, using the same phrases and words their lives had always revolved around, knowing that the person she was chatting with had murdered, not only Lisa, but four other people as well. Looking across the desk, she asked Jack if he was hungry. Since it was after noon, maybe it would be nice to get out in the air and find something to eat. With Jack's affirmative response, she picked up the phone to tell Betty, her secretary, she would be gone the rest of the afternoon, and if there was anything scheduled, it should be moved to Tom or scheduled for next week.

All business now, she stood, donned her sun hat and sunglasses, slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and stood by the door, expecting Jack to follow. 

As they passed through the lobby, Jan noticed how Jack seemed to check out the shabby appearance and was probably comparing it to the restored beauty of her office. What she didn't notice was how Jack checked out the security guard as he sat at his station and eyed them both as they walked through. By way of explanation, she gave Jack a rundown of the company as he helped her into the car, and they headed out to find a quiet place of refuge.

The company had been Hank's brainchild. As a dot-com targeted at e-commerce, the company handled virtual purchases by way of prepayment into an account where the money stayed until needed by a customer to pay for something. It eliminated the need to give your credit card out to companies you knew only from their on-screen presentation and gave people the peace of mind they needed to buy safely in the growing world of electronic shopping. Hank had seen it as a low overhead business that would rely on only two assets - honesty and good business practice. It had been up and running a year when Hank had died, having made it through the dot-com shakeout that had taken so many. They had been at the anniversary party for the company, and Hank had offered to take a few of the employees home that had had too much to drink; Hank, himself, was stone- cold sober. And, as fate often does, Hank's good gesture had been rewarded with one of those bad things that always happen to good people. A block from the office on his way back, his car had been broadsided by a drunk who ran a stoplight. Hank was killed instantly while the drunk had staggered around the wreck site, claiming no knowledge whatsoever of who had wrecked his car.

The company, itself, had been left to Jan. She didn't really understand why or what he expected her to do with it, but the lawyers assured her that the building, its assets, and business, as well as the obligations, were now hers to do with as she pleased. It had taken her a month to get up the courage to go to the office where she had discovered a business in mourning but operating smoothly. Hank had surrounded himself with good people, the key to starting any business, and they had decided weeks before Jan's arrival that Hank's dream would not only survive - it would thrive.




The Sentinel Ch. 03



The business was strong now. Its IPO had been a good one but not strong enough to label it a shooting star which would burn out as it entered the heady atmosphere of public investment life, and that had been a blessing. They had shown a slow, steady growth for the last year and a half and were now being courted by one of the mega dot-coms to merge. Remodeling had started a year ago on the top floor where the Systems people worked; Finance on the third floor had followed and then her floor which included the Sales organization. Currently, the elevator was being refurbished, and the lobby would be done last.

"Turn here, Jack. We'll go to my place, and I'll make us something to eat. We can sit out back on the deck and talk."

Following her directions, Jack found himself about ten miles to the north of the greater Miami metropolitan area, somewhere near the ocean. He couldn't see it, but he could smell and hear it through his open window. Indicating a road to the right, Jack turned in among old trees and an overgrown field of dried wild wheat. About a quarter mile in, he crossed a rise and was confronted by a black iron gate with stone fencing running as far as the view went in either direction. He had taken a plastic card offered by Jan, slid it into the sentry box, and waited while the gates opened silently. A camera on each side of the gate told Jack their arrival had not gone unnoticed. Jack saw the gates closing as they left them behind and drove past a finely manicured lawn on each side with small islands of flowers and stands of trees spread around an immense yard before stopping at the house.

You couldn't call it a mansion; it wasn't really that big. It was just a two-story stone house that might have been built a hundred years ago, restored and modernized with new windows and doors. The shape and appointments of the house appeared to be original, retaining its huge full front porch with six support posts for the next level that provided a porch for the second floor. The tongue and groove flooring, painted the traditional blue grey, looked new, and a porch swing moved gently on one end while potted plants provided color, complementing the white trim around the tan sandstone that was the main structure. 

The windows on the ground floor were floor-to-ceiling walk through openings, preferred during the Victorian period to allow direct access to any room as well as good ventilation. Walking through the double front doors, they stood in an entry hall with a dark wood staircase going up on the right and over to the left onto the second floor. Jan removed her glasses and hat and left them with her purse on an old library table beneath a tall mirror that stood opposite the stairway.

"Jan, do you mind if I bring some things in from the car? I have a couple of computers out there in the trunk, and they might get too hot in the sun."

"Sure, Jack. You can leave them wherever you want. I'll be in the back in the kitchen," and she indicated an archway leading to the back of the house.

Leaving his duffle bag and two computer cases beside the table in the entry hall, Jack found his way back to the kitchen. The stark contrast was a little shocking at first, but beautifully executed, as Jack found himself standing among the latest of modern cooking tools and appliances. Stainless steel counters surrounded the sink and main working area, with Corian and oak making up the rest of the kitchen construction. Seating for 12 was provided along a long countertop that divided the back of the kitchen from the back deck with sliding glass doors that kept out the weather if needed. Today, they were open, and a soft sea breeze blew in from the ocean that could be seen about 200 yards beyond the back of the house.

"What will it be, Jack? I can fix us cold cuts or make you a steak. Or if you like, I can make us some pasta." 

Taking up a place on the deck side of the counter, Jack indicated that anything would be fine and asked if there was any wine to go with the meal. Tossing a key on the counter as she moved from the refrigerator to the sink, Jan indicated a storm cellar door at the end of the deck. Beyond the door, Jack found what had once been a storm cellar which now contained an impressive collection of red wines. Browsing before choosing, he returned to find sliced roast beef, sliced turkey, cheese, pickles, pate, and bread sitting on a large plate in front of his stool. Jan had brought another stool around to sit in front of him and was bringing wine glasses over from a cabinet.

Pouring the wine, Jack settled in and waited a minute to see what direction things would go. The setting was peaceful, and the company pleasant as Jack pondered the killer - what motivated him, where he was, and what he was doing at that moment.

"Jack, forgive me for asking, and it may seem like a strange question, but could you tell me about Lisa?" By way of explanation, Jan continued, "You see, Jack, to me, Lisa was very real and very much alive as recently as last night, and I think some part of me wants to know my love wasn't as misplaced as it seems to have been."

Thinking a minute, Jack went to the foyer for Lisa's computer and placed it on the counter beside them. Not bothering with the adapter, he started the machine on battery power. A password and a few clicks later, and Jack found the last e-mail Lisa had intended for Jan. Turning the laptop so she could read it, Jack said, "This, I believe, was intended for you. I know it comes from a different part of your relationship - not where you thought you were this morning - but read it first, and I have another one for you to read after that. Then I'll tell you about Lisa."

Jack ate quietly as Jan read the mail. Her eyes dampened but no sobs. Turning the machine back to Jack, she found distraction in her wine and food while Jack opened the next mail - the mail intended for him. Swiveling the screen to Jan, he returned to his meal while she read.

Damp eyes turned slowly into wet streaks as Jan finished the mail and silently closed the lid on the computer. Taking a bite of roast beef, she leaned forward on the counter and propped herself on her clasped hands before asking, "She loved you, didn't she?"

Jack felt his own eyes well as he waited to control his emotions enough to speak. "Yes, I believe she did. I also believe she saw something in you that she liked and surely trusted. I know that trust was important to Lisa and not something she took lightly. Reading her last mail to you, I'm reminded a little of the start of my relationship with her. I don't know if this is good or bad, right or wrong, but my feelings tell me she might very well have been on her way to loving you, Jan."

Reaching out to touch his cheek across the counter, Jan hesitated and then said, "Thank you, Jack."

As the food slowly disappeared along with the wine, Jack talked about his and Lisa's time together - how they lived; what they did; and to some degree, how they loved. Jan smiled and enjoyed the stories of their life and laughed openly at the funny details that only true lovers find funny or important. She sighed softly when Jack explained the picture of the two of them sleeping together and where he had his copy. And with that, the afternoon progressed to early evening. Jan cleared the dishes and invited Jack out to the back yard where they could sit under an umbrella and talk about the real task at hand. 

Bringing a bottle of scotch and two glasses, she sat across from Jack and asked simply, "What now, Jack; what can we do?"

"We live the status quo. You go out, chat with the guy, and string him along while I try and find him."

"I'm not sure if I can, Jack. Do you realize what that means? What it will feel like? It makes me feel filthy just thinking about it."

"I know, Jan, and I'm sorry. And when you get right down to it, you don't have to do it, but I have to catch the guy somehow, and you're the closest I've come so far."

Jan seemed lost in reverie as she pondered the situation. Jack, not wanting to interrupt or pressure, sat quietly and took in the view, suddenly becoming aware of being outside, not being on the move, sitting and just taking it all in. A strange mixture of exhilaration and trepidation filled him, the cocoon of his fortress falling away slowly as the sun started to chill, touching the horizon to the west just off the south edge of the house.

"Okay, Jack, I'll do it. Whatever it takes; I'll do it for Lisa."

"What can I say but thanks, Jan. Now, what kind of security do you have here?"





The Sentinel Ch. 04



Juan listened to Michelle's inquiry and quietly told her not to worry. He was sure everything was okay. Jack was a big boy and knew very well how to take care of himself. Placing the phone in its cradle, Juan leaned back in his chair and contemplated what it could mean. 

Someone at a car rental company in Miami had done a routine check on Jack's card just to make sure the limit would cover the responsibilities set forth in the contract and had been surprised to find the credit card company had flagged it. When the rental car company had called the card company, the operator had asked to talk to the client. The rental clerk had explained that the client had already left, and the employee who had done the contract, being new, had failed to realize the mistake until just a few minutes ago.

"Okay, here's what we have," explained the operator. "Mr. Pond's card has no real problems; it's a corporate card for Pond Enterprises with no limit and no past dues - ever. But the card hasn't been used in almost two years, and we would like to confirm that it's the user who, in fact, wants to make the charge. So, let me call his office, and I'll call you back to let you know if it's authorized or not."

"Okay. Do I get a reference number?"

"Not yet, but I'm operator 163 at extension 1139. Ask for Linda."

"Okay, thanks, Linda, sorry about this. Hopefully, you can clear it up for us."

"Sure, I'll call right back. Thanks, and you have a nice day."

Hanging up with the rental agency, Linda called the number given as the office number of Mr. Pond. Explaining the situation to a Michelle who answered the phone, Linda listened closely as she casually browsed through the credit history of the client. It looked like big bucks - should be no problem here.

"I'm sorry; did you say Mr. Pond rented a car?"

"Yes, he did. A current year luxury model."

"I'm sorry, but could you tell me if that car comes equipped for a paraplegic driver - you know special controls and all - because Mr. Pond would have been in a wheelchair and would have required a vehicle that could be driven by hand." Michelle glanced at the other two lines she had on hold and wondered how much longer this would take.

"I'm sorry, but we show no special features on the vehicle rented - a two-door Luxury sedan. Let me check this code. Hold a moment, please."

"Sure." But Linda was gone, and Michelle was left hanging on the phone. Punching a button, she grabbed another line and said quickly, "Mr. Pond will not be attending the benefit this year, but I'm sure he'd like to make a donation. Could you please fax your information, and I'll see to it Mr. Pond gets it. Thanks."

She felt bad about hanging up so quickly, but someone called at least once a week to see if Mr. Pond could give money to some noteworthy cause, and she just didn't have time for it right now. Pushing the next line, she found the party had already hung up. "Damn, lost that one," she muttered and returned to the credit card company. A short pause and Linda came back on the line. "That would be a current year Cadillac STT Telstar, fully equipped with GPS, theft alert, and no special controls for use by the handicapped."

But how could that be? Did Jack hire a driver? "I'm sorry, but is there any way I can talk to the clerk that attended Mr. Pond? I would like to know who the driver was."

"Yes, you may. I can connect us via conference call. Hold, please."

There was a click, and Michelle could hear the sound of a jet taking-off or landing and voices as people walked by the counter, talking. "Hi, I'm Mr. Pond's personal assistant and would like to know if Mr. Pond was accompanied by a driver at the time of rental."

"Sorry," exclaimed the clerk, "but Mr. Pond walked up to the counter by himself and presented a driver's license. I have him listed as the only driver on the insurance contract. Is there a problem?"

Michelle was immediately alerted and explained in great detail what Mr. Pond looked like, INCLUDING the fact he should have been sitting in a wheelchair. The clerk was completely unconcerned while he explained that Mr. Pond looked more or less as she described EXCEPT the part about the wheelchair and his license picture matched his mug as good as can be expected, considering the quality of work done by the license bureaus these days.

"I'm sorry, but could you two hold on a minute, and let me check with a colleague of Mr. Pond's? Thank you." Two could play at the quick hold button, and Michelle immediately consulted with Mr. Martin. But, she was surprised to learn that Mr. Martin wasn't at all concerned. 

Pressing the blinking light, Michelle announced that all was well, not to worry about the card, and thanks for taking the time to check.

* * * * *

Standing at the inner door to Jack's apartment, Juan felt a little like a snoop as he inserted the key and entered from the foyer in front of the elevator. All seemed quiet, no ominous signs of a struggle or unexpected life. A quick walk through the apartment reassured Juan that Jack wasn't lying dead in some corner and nothing appeared to be missing or out of place. 

One of Jack's wheelchairs was missing which would have been correct, and the balcony door was locked, but Juan could see through the glass door that Jack wasn't out there. Glancing at the other glass door that went into Jack's secret room, Juan saw the drapes were drawn and wondered if he should check there. Jack's instructions had always been very clear. That room was not to be opened by anyone except in the case of his death. Maybe I should try and find another explanation first, Juan thought. Turning away from the door, he walked through the apartment again but slower this time. It was on the second pass that Juan noticed the footprints in the carpet. It looked like tennis shoes of some kind. Even more telling was the lack of wheel tracks from room to room. He had walked on a few of them but was still able to follow the distinct footprints left by tennis shoes through the apartment, from the sliding glass door into Jack's bedroom, to beside the bed where they appeared to go back out to the kitchen, and then disappeared on the oak hardwood floor. Glancing around the room, Juan saw some white tissue paper in the trashcan and walked over to investigate. Inside was an empty shoe box which had held new shoes, purchased and put on. Walking through to the breakfast nook with its slate floor, he stepped into the door of Jack's office and found the footprints again moving around the desk and under the picture that covered his wall safe. Finding the release, he checked the safe. It appeared to be fine so he followed the footprints over to the wall where Jack and Lisa's picture hung and noticed the footprints moved around a little as if standing for a minute before going back out the door.

Walking back through the kitchen, Juan went to the exercise room and glanced around. What's wrong in here? What is it that's not right? Running back over the inventory in his mind, Juan recalled the furnishings purchased when the building had been redone and suddenly realized - what would a paraplegic be doing with a walking machine?

Walking over, he stooped at the edge and looked closely at the belt the user would walk on. Very clean but worn. Looking closer, he could see it was worn a lot. Standing, Juan walked back to the foyer and quietly, almost reverently, closed the inner door to Jack's apartment. "Jack, you no good son of a bitch, you can walk again and didn't tell us." Concerned, Juan stepped into the elevator as the doors closed; "What are you up to, Jack?" he asked the stainless steel walls as they carried him down.

* * * * *

At the writing desk in her bedroom, Jan sat in front of a laptop computer that was open and running. She was wearing only panties and a bra which had been a point of contention for Jack wanting to leave, but Jan had won out, insisting that she would not talk to this person - not now, unless Jack was there. She just didn't feel safe. At the same time, this is how they always chatted, and if Jack wanted this to work, she had to do it her way. 

Jack sat quietly out of the camera's view where he could still see the screen well enough to read the chat and tried not to be distracted by the line of Jan's leg as she did her nails and waited patiently for 'cyber' Lisa to appear. Jan had also explained that she needed to be doing something as if it were two girls getting together to chitchat and not sitting nervously on the edge of her chair wondering what kind of monster she had invited into her house - no, her life. "And Jack, no matter what happens; don't take your eyes off the chat. I won't have a chance to save it if things go as usual, and we'll loose it."

Jan's computer chimed before Jack could ask why the chat couldn't be saved, and he watched Lisa's box flash, down in the lower right-hand side of the screen to let Jan know she was logged on. Jan hesitated, and Lisa opened the chat first.

"Hi, Jan, how are you, Hun?"

Jan hesitated, and Jack was sure she wouldn't go through with it. But then, her hands came up, and she responded.

"Fine, babe, and you?"

"Not a bad day. Lot of meds, the usual stuff, you know."

"Hey," Jan typed, "did you go to that interview like I told you to?" and hit enter.

There was a pause as if afraid of what her lover might say and then, "No, Jan, I'm sorry. I can't, and you know it. I tried to tell you." 

Jan was reassuring as you would expect a lover to be when she typed, "It's okay, Lisa, I still love you," and hit enter. Jan turned to Jack and stared blankly. There was nothing to say; Jack knew what she was doing.

And there it was - the invitation screen that would allow Lisa's killer to see Jan on video. Jan didn't hesitate and went immediately to the 'Accept' button and clicked. A black box opened to the right of the chat, and after about 15 seconds, a smaller picture appeared in the lower right-hand corner of the box that showed Jan sitting at her table, her bedroom behind her - a picture of what the killer saw.

"You are so adorable, Jan. Give me a hug and make it all go away."

Jack was transfixed as he watched Jan raise her arms and cross them in front of her chest as if hugging someone very thin to her. Tilting her head, she puckered to kiss the air and then smiled warmly at the camera.

"Thanks, Jan, I love you."

"I love you too, Lisa."

Jack sat watching as Jan chatted, the same small talk found on millions of chat boxes every night as people reached out to be close - to share. Theirs was laced with the endearments and intimacies of lovers.

Jan had explained to Jack that tonight was just a quick visit before going to bed. Lisa understood she had a busy schedule and usually arrived at the office early so the chat should be brief. 

After about five minutes, 'cyber' Lisa typed, "Did you get your mail today?"

Lisa's question threw Jan off balance for a second. She had, in fact, not checked her mail all day due to Jack's appearance and had no idea what Lisa had written. Thinking it best not to be caught in a lie, Jan answered as truthfully as possible.  

"Lisa, I'm so sorry; I had an emergency at the office and have been away from my computer all day. You want me to check them now?"

"No, babe, don't worry about it. Read them in the morning; you should have two. One is about Saturday night. I have a request, but if you can't, don't worry. I'll understand."

"You're my girl, Lisa. Let me kiss you on the forehead. XO"

"And let me tuck you in, Jan. It's been a long day, and I bet you're tired."

"Thanks, Lisa, it feels so good to hug you." And with that, Jan stood in front of the desk and reached back to unsnap her bra, letting it fall forward to the floor at her feet. Leaning on the table, her breasts exposed to the camera and Jack, she typed, "Come and help me, Lisa. You know I can't do this alone." Hitting enter, she stood again where she was; hooked her thumbs in each side of her thong; and pushed it down past her hips to let it drop. Then she stepped to one side before bending to pick it up and lay it on the table in front of the computer. As she bent, Jack got a glimpse of her eyes and could see she was on the verge of crying. Turning away, he was aware of more typing and quickly glanced at the screen, trying his best not to notice Jan standing naked over the keyboard.

"Lisa, Hun, I'm really tired. Could you tuck me in?"

The response was immediate.

"Sure, babe."

Jan reached up; turned the desk lamp off; and turning, walked to the bedroom door to hit a switch that turned the ceiling light off. Turning back towards Jack, she walked right up to him and stared over his shoulder before turning to the side of the bed and walking to the head of it to pull the comforter back to the foot. That done, she walked back up and pulled the sheet back halfway, leaving a place for her to crawl in and lie down.

Walking back to the computer, she typed "Night, Lisa, miss you already. Love you," and hit enter.

Not waiting for a response, she turned away from the machine, leaving the chat on. Then she walked back to the bed and crawled between the sheets - the whole time with a big smile on her face for Lisa. Sitting up with her body covered from the waist down she wrapped her arms around her chest again and gave a big hug, highlighted by a pouting grin. Laying her head back on the pillow she reached over and turned the light off.

Suddenly the room was completely dark except for the washed-out glow of the computer screen. Jack sat frozen in place, wondering what he should do. He couldn't step in front of the computer because the screen would give off enough light for the camera to show Lisa that someone else was in the bedroom. He could see Jan in the faint glow from the screen and see that she had closed her eyes as if preparing to doze off - if not already asleep. 

He knew the microphone wasn't connected, and 'cyber' Lisa couldn't hear him if he talked, but he also knew Jan couldn't answer, or Lisa might see her lips move. Then, two beeps sounded, and the computer screen went black. Looking over quickly, Jack could see the small power light under the screen blink off.

Just then, he heard Jan's soft sobs before a hoarse voice said, "It's programmed to go off by itself if I don't touch it for five minutes. That's so Lisa can 'tuck me in' at night and make sure I'm safe in bed."

Jack was lost. How humiliating it must have all been for Jan, and he felt helpless again. Finally, he whispered, "Jan…."

"No, Jack, don't. But do me a favor. Come here and lay down with me until I fall asleep. Please, Jack, I need it."

Walking to the other side of the bed, Jack slipped his shoes off and scooted across the bed on top of the sheet where he lay gently beside Jan and raised his hand to her shoulder. He could feel her body convulse as she sobbed softly and felt her hand come up on his to pull his arm across her body hugging it to her breasts. Jack spooned in a little, and Jan pressed back, wanting her body molded into his, wanting to feel safe once again. After about five minutes, the sobbing subsided, and Jack tried to extract his arm so he could go to the bedroom that Jan had said was his, but the tightening of her hand told him she still needed him here with her.

Pushing his face into her hair, Jack wondered who was comforting whom as he fell asleep wrapped around Jan.

* * * * *

The Sentinel sighed audibly and thought how habits were so easily formed. It seemed even more so in chat. Habits seemed to be the anchor in a world of electrons flying through wires to appear on screens. Or maybe, it was addiction. 'Jan' had been beautiful this evening as always. But then, so had another dozen women on as many cams that the Sentinel had open at the same time. The victim was the key; the Sentinel had to find the right victim before it was too late. Slumping down in the chair, exhausted, a wadded Kleenex fell to the floor beside the Sentinel's chair. The breathing slowed and eventually became deep and rhythmic as the Sentinel fell asleep to dream the dreams of the tormented.

* * * * *

Leaning into the mirror over the sink, steam rising from the running water, Jack took a washcloth and wiped the mirror clean so he could see to finish shaving. He was surprised to see Jan behind him, sliding a robe off her shoulders to step into the shower he had just stepped out of. He decided it wasn't necessary to know why she chose his bathroom and returned to the task at hand.

He could hear the water splash across her body, the loud plop of suds as they were banished from her skin after performing the job they'd been assigned. Finishing his face, he wiped it clean of shaving cream with a hot washcloth and padded out of the bathroom into the bedroom where he'd left his things the previous night. Pulling out slacks, a shirt, socks and underwear, Jack laid his towel on the bed and started dressing.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but I can't be alone. I'll be okay soon, but I can still feel his eyes on my body."

Looking up, Jack saw Jan standing in the doorway from the bathroom; a huge white terrycloth towel wrapped and tucked, covering her body from across her breasts to the top of her thighs. Turning away as quickly as he'd looked, Jack proceeded to pull his pants on.

"Look, Jack, we're both adults, and I have nothing for you to see that you haven't seen several times before. Besides, Lisa had planned on you seeing it anyway, so please Jack, give me this morning and don't let me out of your sight. I feel so, well... so filthy right now." 

As Jack pulled his shirt on, he could hear Jan sobbing from the doorway. Pulling the shirt down and tucking it in quickly, he went to her side, gently pulling her to him. "Shhh, Jan, it's going to be okay. Yes, Jan, I'm here." Gently, he guided her back into her bedroom and sat her on the bed beside a summer dress and panties that she'd laid out. "Here, Jan, put these on." Handing her the panties, Jack picked up the dress and searched for a zipper or buttons to open it while Jan leaned down to put her feet in the panties. Standing as she pulled them up, the towel fell away to the floor. Jack was taken by her beauty, not for the first time, but for the first time, he openly stared for a moment as he felt a slight stirring. Quickly, he raised the dress over her head and slipped it down, breaking the spell. Dutifully, as if being dressed by a parent, Jan turned so Jack could pull the zipper up.

"Let's go back to the other room. You can fix your hair, and I'll pick up." Then, with more enthusiasm, Jack added, "I'll make you one of my Jack Pond special breakfasts, and we'll do some planning. Well, then I might have to take you to the hospital and have your stomach pumped, but hey, we all need to sacrifice." That got a smile as they headed off to get the morning started.

They were both starved, their only meal yesterday being cold cuts and wine. So breakfast consisted of Jack's special, very thin, dark pancakes; poached eggs; a thin sirloin, perfect for breakfast fare that Jack had found in the freezer; OJ; and a bowl of fruit he was able to put together from what he found in the kitchen. Jan started talking and seemed to be coming out of her gloom as they both moved around the kitchen, wiping counters, washing dishes, and leaving it more or less as it was yesterday before lunch. 

Moving out to the back deck, they sat around the same umbrella table from the previous afternoon, and Jack decided it was time to put forth his plan. Although he was a little afraid of asking the question, Jack needed to ask anyway even though he suspected what the answer was. "Jan, do you have a boyfriend or 'steady'. I ask because we may need to recruit his help in this."

"No, Jack, there's only been Lisa, well... the killer, since Hank. That and the company. I did go out with Dave a couple of times - dinner, drinks, and a little dancing, but it just didn't work out."




The Sentinel Ch. 04



"Dave?"

"The security guard at the company yesterday. You met him."

"Right, guess I did." That wouldn't work.

Resigned to work around the problem, Jack explained his idea. "The killer has a relationship with you and will always find you. But just as importantly, you can find him - at least through chat. We have to draw him out of his hole into the open where I can get to him or at least find his hole. I want to check the address you have for him in chat and any other information you might have. I have a friend that might be able to help us get some information from it, and we can go from there".

"Jack, the only reason he'll come out of his hole is to kill again. I've invited and tried to entice 'Lisa' several times to show up here at the house - to come spend time with me. The killer has my address here and at the office; he knows when I work and where to find me. I did it all for Lisa, or at least, I thought so. But 'Lisa' has always refused. I don't think you'll get the killer out unless it's to kill again."

Jack knew that and hated to admit it to Jan, but that's what he was counting on.

"I know, Jan," was all he said.

Jan brought her laptop down and put it on the table between them. Booting it up, she logged into her mail and waited while Outlook downloaded several mails. Most of them went to a folder labeled 'Company', but three went to one marked 'Personal'. Jan clicked to open the 'Personal' folder, and Jack saw several already read mails where Jan had been corresponding with the killer on a regular basis. The top three were unread, and Jan clicked on the third from the top - the first to arrive yesterday.  

Scanning it, she turned the machine so Jack could read as well. It was Jan's good morning mail that Lisa sent more or less like clockwork - brief, full of affection and love. Jack pushed the computer back so Jan could open the next. It was much longer, and Jan took the time to read it more carefully. Pushing the computer to Jack again, she explained.

"We've been having a discussion for a couple of months about me - about me finding a lover, a man. 'Lisa' has been expressing concern about me and my future, my needs for actual physical contact. She said I was too alone, even with her presence, and needed to feel or enjoy the warmth of a hand on my breast or a caressing touch on my thighs. In light of what I know now, I think the killer may have been setting me up for another kill. At one point, we even talked about it being another woman, and Lisa thought that would be fine. She said that I couldn't live by cybersex alone. I'm supposed to be with a 'date' this Saturday when we meet."

Reading the mail, Jack was surprised at how good the killer was at getting into the role. If he didn't know better, he would certainly think this 'Lisa' as real as his own. The cadence wasn't right, but the words were very close. Looking at the address, he could see it was from the same chat service Lisa had used last night.

"Is this the only address you have for 'Lisa'," Jack asked.

"No, I had a different one she used when we first started chatting, but it changed shortly after that. The reason given was to hide from you."

The other address would have been his Lisa's. "Okay, I guess you have no other 'cyber' lover either."

"No, Jack, no one."

Moving to the next mail, today's good morning mail, Jan opened it and read. It was brief also with one small reference to the coming Saturday night. 'Please, Jan, if you won't do it for you, do it for me. I will never be with a man again the way I look now, but I can watch you enjoy one.'

They were both silent as Jack watched Jan hit the 'Reply' button and start typing. Jack looked down the yard to the ocean, a dark, blue grey, fairly calm. He could hear gulls and other birds going about their day and wondered how he could ever have shut himself up for so long, missing out on living. Lisa would have smiled, he thought.

* * * * *

Sgt. Linda Woo walked among the partitioned spaces of the open floor plan, stopping occasionally to see what was happening. Her 'chatters' were working away, involved in chat or inputting information in the data base for analysis by Tom. She felt a slight shiver as she realized John hadn't been far off the mark. Probably 80% of the monitors had some person in some stage of undress or complete nudity while her 'government' employees chatted away or sat idly, clicking on other chat rooms to see what was being said. They were probably numbed into celibacy, she thought, as she took in the way they seemed to just 'take it in stride' - no wandering hands touching their own bodies in response to a primal call from Id. No one stared openly, jaw a little slack, as some man buried his head between the thighs of a woman with her feet propped on the seat of her computer chair. 

They had all been clearly informed of what their task would be and had all passed the psychological profiles that looked for normal, healthy, happy people with above average intelligence and an indifference to nudity. She had actually chosen about half her total workforce from people that belonged to or frequented nudist camps, and/or worked in the sex trade in strip joints or Gentlemen's Smoking Lounges. It was surprising how many erotic dancers actually had degrees that could give them viable careers but chose nude dancing just because it paid so well. The ones that she had chosen were now getting too old for taking their clothes off; they had left the profession not because they didn't like it, but because after 26 or so, their tips had dropped off, and the reality of a future that provided no future, had started to set in. The government gave them the chance to get back into the main stream and some hope of a pension.

A psych review was done once a week by a small staff of psychologists that roamed the floor, dropping by someone's cubicle to see what was on the screens and to check on what the viewer might be feeling about it. It was surprising how many middle-aged housewives had applied and were, in fact, working for her now. For most of these women, their children were grown, gone to college, or married; their husbands worked or had been divorced. They were left with time on their hands and nothing to do with it.

The main floor was an open area with twenty work spaces which had no cameras. Everyone here operated as 'blind' chatters with no cam - there for the fun of it, or at least, that's what the rooms they chatted in thought. Six 'special' spaces existed on the floor below; they were set up to look like someone's house or office, complete with cameras so a live video chat could be carried out if deemed necessary.

When you got right down to it, she had to admit it was a government-supported sex chat site open 24 hours a day. Maybe their fingers weren't sticky, at least not in their work spaces, but she was sure their minds were. God, she thought, John's snide observation was closer to the mark that he knew.

It had all become so grueling, a task that weighed heavy on Linda. She had found herself becoming desensitized by physical sex and affection. Her boyfriend of two years had been the first banished from her life, and then, communication with her family had diminished to the point that they were ecstatic to receive a phone call once a month even though they lived just across town. Then, it had been her fellow workers. It seemed the only one she had been able to really stay in touch with was Tom, although her contact with his wife and kids had dropped to a minimum. It was the hours in front of computer screens, communicating with her fingers and not her voice. It was the control of turning a cam on or off, of saying no to uninvited guests. But most of all, Linda suspected it was being someone else, as reality slowly faded, and her life became the necessities: eating, sleeping, hygiene and chat - chat having become the virtual reality that interfaced so well with the impulses from her Id, giving it free rein when possible.

At an intellectual level, she knew exactly what was happening; at an emotional level, at the core of her Id, she really didn't give a shit. She unashamedly watched the clock and walked the floor until she could go home to tune-in and turn-on - to bring her life to life.

Linda wondered if the team assigned to Tom's special list was having any luck but decided she would check when she got home through her remote logon. She had started her own sleuthing last night until she noticed Jan had logged on almost like clockwork. Linda wondered what it was that drew her to this particular woman. She knew exactly who Jan was. She was involved with Lisa Stone, the first victim. From what she had been able to learn, Jan and Lisa were on their way to becoming more than just chat friends when the murder had occurred. But Jan had remained active in chat and could be found almost daily, mostly in the evening. Linda had worked hard at keeping Jan in sight and hoped it would soon pay off. Something said it was important; for some reason, she actually thought Jan could be the chosen one, the next victim. 

The government-paid hackers had been able to accomplish two things rather nicely, but who people connected with was not one of them. They had provided the means for Linda and her crew to add people to their buddy lists without the person knowing, and they had given their group the means to patch into almost anyone's video feed without being detected. They were working on a patch-in for the chat, but they only had the ability to receive one side of the conversation, not both. If the second party was not on the buddy list, then they couldn't see them, literally and figuratively.

Linda had suffered for several months, while the project was still in its infancy, when she had discovered that she enjoyed watching women much more than men. But how could that be? She knew she wasn't gay, or at least, she always thought that the case. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, she found many more female cams open on her desktop at home than male. She finally decided a great part of it had to do with just plain attractiveness. A woman's body had more appealing features than a man's. The skin was smooth, and lines more attractive; the nipples flushed and grew when excited. But then, she decided it wasn't important in the larger scheme of things. What she had become was all part of where she was going, and hopefully, the journey would end soon.

Stopping in her office, she checked her voice mail and decided, even though it was only three in the afternoon, it was late enough to go home. Just making the decision seemed to infuse her with energy as she made quick calls to the floor supervisors to let them know she was leaving and could be reached in chat or at home by phone if it was an emergency. Standing to leave, the phone rang. "Damn, why didn't I leave sooner?" 

"Sgt. Woo, here."

She could hear the laughing and recognized the voice before she even had a chance to finish. "What do you want, John?"

"Linda, hi. Listen, the guys and me have a pool going, and we wanted to get the inside track if you know what I mean. Hell, maybe you want to get in on it, too. Twenty dollars will get you $600 last count. It goes like this: guess the day and hour that our very own Linda Woo does her first 'cybershow', and you win. Now we're talking full frontal nudity here, none of that flashin' your tits for us; we want to see it all, including the sticky fingers." There was a pause as John waited for her reaction, but fortunately, he would have had to have been in her office to have seen it. Then he continued in a more ominous tone, "We're all keeping an eye on you, Linda, even after hours. You think those special little programs, you guys have over there, are exclusively for you?"

Slamming the phone down, Linda sank into her chair and sobbed. Her shoulders heaved, and the tears came freely as they dripped from her cheeks onto the papers on her desk. There was nothing she could do about it. No one in his area would speak up or go against him; there was no line recording inter-office calls. It would be his word against hers, and she knew who would win. But what upset her most was how close he'd come to being right. If they only knew, she thought.

* * * * *

Riding in Jack's rental car, they looked like any other happy, successful couple on their way somewhere in life. Jack was driving, and Jan sat in the passenger's seat, her white sandals discarded on the floorboard and feet tucked up under her thighs as she leaned against the door to turn and look at Jack. Jan wanted to stop by the office to check things and had asked Jack to tag along. Instead, he'd offered to drive.

Parking in the same spot he'd parked the day before, Jack opened Jan's door and followed her over to the building. In the lobby Jack noticed a different guard was in and made a joke about getting his wish.

"What's that, Jack?"

"Oh, just the guard from yesterday. Not exactly a great P.R. representative if you know what I mean. I wanted to buy the company and fire him."

She laughed lightly, and said, "Dave was one of the original fifteen that started the company with Hank. He only works three days a week, and if I recall correctly, he's worth over a million dollars with the stock options the company was built on. I think he just hangs around out of loyalty to Hank and to protect me. He's always been that way. I actually think it's cute."

"Well, maybe I can offer him another million to go away," Jack responded. 

Jan chuckled lightly and invited Jack up to the top floor to check out the 'site'. While the building was Art Deco on the outside, in the Systems area it was nothing but 21st century. On this floor most the room partitions had been cleared away, and the windows were sealed over. The temperature was dry and cool, maintained that way by climate control systems that kept the 'technology' as Jan called it 'happy'. She gave him the nickel tour, showing him a small room with two people in it, explaining that their only job was to keep an eye on the company portal into the net, watching traffic levels and monitoring their gatekeeper software to keep the hackers away.

A row of six huge servers, with network switches stacked on top, fed into another row of storage and backup systems. Eight other people that Jack could see made up the day crew for Systems. Some sat at computer monitors, checking things; others wandered from screen to screen giving each a quick glance. Jan said 'hi' to a few of the employees and stopped at a desk to talk to the shift director about traffic levels, asking whether or not the elevator repair was giving them a fit because of the voltage fluctuations. All seemed in order, and Jan lead him down a floor to the Financial Department. 

The rooms were still in tact on this floor, but floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors in the hallway gave it an open, airy feel in contrast to the barren look on Jan's floor. Not finding the person she was looking for, she stopped in another office and asked how yesterday had closed, seemingly pleased with a .25% lift in revenue and a 2% lift in overall 'hits'.

Then they went down another floor to Jan's office where she checked her voice mail and made a few calls: one to their bank and another to their brokerage firm. "That's it, Jack, that's what they pay me for around here. How about we stop at the store on the way back, and I'll cook for you this evening?"

As they turned the corner to leave the building, Jack noticed Dave, his favorite security guard, had come in on his day off and was hanging around with the guard on turn. He didn't look like a security guard today. He looked more like a person with a little extra cash and nothing to do with it - nuevo rich and no idea how to spend his money.

"Hi, Jan. How are you today?"

"Good, Dave; how goes life?"

"Another day, another dollar. At least, I hope so. What say you, pretty lady?"

Jan laughed warmly and responded, "Maybe we can make that by the hour instead of day. The way things are going, we just might double your worth in the next year, Dave."

That made Dave real happy; the smile was wide and bright as he offered a 'good day' to the boss lady and eyed Jack as he followed her out. Jack concluded that the guy was a creep who got lucky and found a honey pot in the form of a big paycheck. If it weren't for his opportunity with Hank, he would probably be washing cars, albeit, head car washer, but car washer just the same.

At the store they wandered from aisle to aisle not talking much, Jan seemingly lost in finding what she needed to prepare dinner while Jack contemplated the stark contrast his life had become in the space of three days. He'd gone from a self-imposed, penthouse jail cell and eyes, aching from watching computer screens all day, to a free man, living in the house of a very intelligent as well as beautiful woman. But most of all, he'd gone out into the world and found it pretty much the same way he'd left it - maybe, a little more frantic, but still the same people wandering around trying to find their way, just as he was.

Putting the groceries in the trunk while Jan got into the passenger side, he noticed a black van with polarized black windows and enough antennas to set up a SETI project on wheels. It wasn't that it was suspicious; it was just that it needed to be looked at. From the wide tires on gaudy chrome rims to the faint vision of fuzzy dice through the windshield, it spoke of a lot of money spent on an overpriced 'boy's toy'. He chuckled, thinking that's just what Dave needed to drive around in.

* * * * *

"Look, Woo, it's not working. I met with Tom this morning, and even painting the brightest picture, he really can't give me a closure date on this, not even a month."

Linda sat quietly, back straight, hands folded in her lap as she waited for the next part. 

"I'm going to leave the task force intact until the end of the year. We should be able to absorb half the personnel into other areas. I mean, we are here to monitor and fight internet crimes, and you've built the best monitoring office we have. Why waste it? I want you to……"

Why draw it out, she wondered. Why give him the chance to enjoy the moment? The second the words roll off his tongue, it will be over.

"I quit."

"…do what you can to help find places for your people and get in touch with the FBI and some of the bigger local agencies to see if they can use…"

"I said I quit."

"What? You can't do that. Look, Linda, I know it's a disappointment, but I do recognize that you did the best you could. The odds were against you from the start; Tom told us that. But why quit? You have a career here. It's not failing because of you; it survived this long because of you. You're good, Woo, and I want you here."

"I can't do it anymore. I quit." Linda wondered if her neck looked as red as it felt, and if her ears were really the burning embers that they felt like. Could the Captain see she was about to break down in tears?

With a sigh of frustration as he slumped back in his chair, the Captain jerked open a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of good Irish Rye with two paper cups. Let it all cool down for a second; let it all sink in while Woo contemplates what she just said, he thought. Pouring half a Dixie cup each, he shoved one towards her, and leaning back to sip, he contemplated Linda – scrutinizing her slowly, no rush. He got to this position on instincts and wasn't going to push them aside now. She didn't touch the whisky which didn't surprise him; so after finishing his own, he reached across for hers, drinking it down in one quick shot. He had pushed too hard, expecting Linda to perform a miracle. It wasn't fair, and he knew it.




The Sentinel Ch. 04



"Woo, you look like shit. You have circles under your eyes; your skinny little ass is skinnier; and you wander around in a constant daze. I deem this conversation over. I do not want to see you in my office - no wait, inside bureau installations until the first of the year. I am calling travel. They are going to get a reservation for you to Cancun. You are to report to that flea bag hotel the bureau has reserved year-round, and you are to go to the beach every day. Upon arriving at the beach, you are to remain stationary except when applying Government- Issued sun block and lifting the occasional Government-issued beer to you lips for a refreshing sip. After six PM every evening, you are to report to the night spot of your choice and 'blend in', continuing to lift the occasional Government-issued beer and gyrating your body among whatever crowd of people that happens to be on whatever dance floor." 

"I quit."

His response was quick, sharp, and to the point; Linda actually jumped. "You cannot quit. You have an assignment, and this conversation is over. Now, get the hell out of my office, go pack your bags, and get to work."

She fought to hold the tears in until she could get to her office. No way was she going to some fucking beach in Mexico. She was not going to quit looking until she found closure, and she knew finding the next victim would bring her that. 

After closing and locking her filing cabinet and desk and leaving the top of the desk as it was, she called Tom. There was no banter, just a request to meet her at the bar across the street in fifteen minutes. And no, it wasn't too early. With a very satisfying slam of the Government-issued door on her way out, Linda said a silent goodbye to her career – a career that was starting to interfere now with her real life anyway. It was time to stop skulking and get down to the business at hand.  

* * * * *

The meal had been great; the company, comfortable and interesting; and the wine - both bottles - a very nice Merlot. After returning to the house, Jan had followed Jack to the kitchen with the groceries and waited as he found a place to put them. Stepping close before he could find something else to occupy his hands, she'd leaned in and whispered, "Thank you, Jack. I'm better now." Then taking one of his hands in hers, she'd continued, "I am committed, Jack. We will get this guy." She had given him a peck on the cheek and pulled away, banishing him to his room where he could take a break while she cooked.

Jack had used the time to check his own mail. It seemed negotiations were going well with the other two freight companies, but it was the last line from Juan that most interested him.

"And tell me, Jack, did you wear out your new shoes yet, pinché cabron."

Jack wondered how Juan had figured it out but decided it really didn't matter. 

Then Jack had gone into chat and looked around for a friend of his, someone he'd met during his quest for Lisa's killer. He was one of the few people Jack had grown to trust enough to go on cam with, if for nothing else other than the company it provided. Being a software programmer that worked for the biggest software company in the world, Lee had given Jack tips and ideas, even snippets of code that helped him set up his monitoring room. Jack had alluded to needing a 'hobby' to occupy his time, indicating life in a wheelchair could be pretty boring sometimes, but he knew Lee didn't swallow it. At the same time, he hadn't pressed for more. Exchanging chit chat and observations about the future direction of computer-based communication, Jack had, to his surprise, grown to enjoy Lee's company.

After sending him a quick mail using an encryption program Lee had given him, Jack put his computer away and waited to see what Lee could find.

Now, after a wonderful meal that spoke of simple fulfillment and casual domesticity, Jack was sitting in the middle of Jan's bed. He was relaxed as he watched her walk around the room, turning on her computer and talking about his plan. "Look, Jack, I think your plan can work, but I don't have a lover or even close friend I can ask the favor of, and I'm not going to rush around and pick up just anyone to help us out with this. Besides, owning a company the size of mine has taught me one thing - containment. The fewer people involved the less chance of leaks."

Opening her closet, she reached in and brought out white silk pajamas that hung from a padded hanger. Laying them on the bed, she reached back to unzip the dress that Jack had pulled over her head that morning. Suddenly, Jack realized she was going to get undressed and started to move off the bed to leave.

"No, Jack, stay. You will be my lover - the man I share with the killer."

With that, the dress fell away, and Jan stood there in her sandals and panties. There was no challenge in her eyes, just quiet questioning as she waited to see what Jack would do. Resigned to the fact that Jan had no qualms at all about her body or casual exposure, Jack scooted back to the head of the bed and sat, arms crossed, contemplating.

"Won't work. The killer knows me, has seen me. What the hell is he going to think when he finds me here with you?"

"Suppose you're shy, Jack, new to this, afraid of someone seeing your face on cam, and we cut it off. People do it all the time. Hell, you can recognize more people in chat from the neck down than you can from their face."

"My scars, front and back. I was shot; I told you. I have two very nice reminders in the form of an entry wound and surgery on my back. The type of wound and results were all in the paper. The killer would know all about it."

Hooking her thumbs in her panties, Jack watched as Jan pushed her panties down; her neatly trimmed pubic patch was a stark contrast as the white lace slipped past. Letting them drop, she stepped out of her sandals and crawled up onto the bed on all fours, her head a foot from his.

"But you can walk, Jack. And if you told me right, no one else knows that but you and me." Moving closer, she balanced her weight on three points of contact with the mattress and placed a hand on Jack's thigh. "How many people do you think get shot each year? Maybe, you're an ex-cop or went to Desert Storm to fight, Jack. You decide. But I won't do it with anyone but you."

The last woman Jack had made love to was Lisa - her arms, her lips, her body as they lay in her bed and loved away the night. 'Don't go Jack, what could you possibly have in your office that's more important than this'

If he'd only stayed. Then it happened. Jan's lips were warm and soft, a faint taste of lipstick as she kissed him. Her hand moved gently under his shirt exploring, touching, as she moved closer, finally falling into his arms, head on his chest, a bare breast resting on his stomach with one leg crooked over his as she waited.

Jan whispered close and intimate, "Jack, we can do this cold turkey on the cam in awhile, or we can get to know each other first."

It was not a place where men go very often in their lives - not what society expected or dictated of them. It was something Jack hadn't done since Lisa's death. But here, in Jan's arms, Jack was finally able to let go. His sobs were silent, but strong and deep, as tears fell from his chin onto Jan's hand. He brought his free hand up to hide them, but Jan took it and gently guided it to her mouth where she kissed his fingers softly, lovingly. "It's okay, Jack. It will be okay."

* * * * *

Returning to her office after a few too many beers, Linda decided she could do this thing. Hitting the enter key, she watched as the mail went out to John. She was sure sending it to him would be enough. It was cryptic but made the point.

John, 

Put me down for $20. Here's my best guess on date, time, and hour - even to the minute. Wanna go double or nothing?

Linda

By the way, I understand sticky fingers will be a part of tonight's program.

Adding the date, she included a time right to the second. If I can't quit, I'll get fired. I have more important things to do.

* * * * *

The Sentinel had not always been like this. The Sentinel had not always been a jaded cynic. The Sentinel hadn't always sat in a dark room, staring at computer screens as they flickered and blinked. The Sentinel hadn't always been a Peeping Tom, an unashamed voyeur that drew life and excitement, lust and fulfillment from other people's miserable little moments on a cam.

It seemed like another life, another person that had a job - more than a job, a profession. The Sentinel could even see that person in the mirror after a shower, after washing the stench of the nest off. The Sentinel could find that person in the closet among the wool and silk, leather and cotton. Here was the armor of Wall Street or the Supreme Court - the trappings of power or fame, wealth and education; the finer materials; the traditional colors; the 'mark of the beast', smirked the Sentinel.

 

 "Did I not come from the beast?" cried the Sentinel; the walls were a cold comfort for such hard words. "Am I not here because of them?" The Sentinel looked up as if searching for God. But no, there was no answer. There was no sudden insight as the Sentinel turned back to the screens, eyes scanning from one screen to the other. 

It was for that reason the Sentinel sat in the room - the nest, naked. It was in this way that intimacy could be found. Here, in front of the flickering pictures of life, the Sentinel had no secrets. Here, the Sentinel tried to feel as vulnerable as those being watched. The Sentinel wanted to feel their vulnerability, needed to be inside their minds, to live vicariously through their lives if for no other reason than the need to have a life...any life, but this one.

A window would be nice thought the Sentinel, if not for the light or warmth of the sun, then for the option of jumping. The Sentinel needed to feel that quick rush of life as the adrenalin pumped through the body to make you want to save yourself. You could never feel more alive than when it reached every cell, in every part of your body, making it vibrate with power, and sharpening your senses as you listened to the wind whistle around your head.

 So strong... It would take three small seconds to fall to the pavement. Slow them down. Stretch them into minutes that slide into hours, and you see in detail, the table, the dirty dishes, and the discarded place settings on the floor below yours as your body passes by into oblivion.

 The Sentinel contemplates who might have sat there a few minutes before, eating, maybe talking and laughing - two settings with scraps of food; a bit of wine and a lonely rose, slender and delicate, in a crystal vase between the plates - a still life depiction of romance's afterglow as the Sentinel's downward journey continues as if in a dream. 

As the next floor glides by on this ride to hell, the elevator operator can be heard saying, "I give you the fighting couple. We've all seen them but do we really know them?" A man's face contorts in anger and disgust; a woman's face fills with fear and rebellion. The room is as shabby as their pathetic little lives and a rush of tranquility falls over the Sentinel as the choice is confirmed. No need to stay here any longer; time to see what better things exist. Be it heaven or hell or just quiet serenity, it must be better than this.

"Step back, please, and let the other people off," the elevator operator intones. "Sorry, kids, this floor is for adults only." The Sentinel is suddenly overwrought with inner conflict. Is this it? Is this a reason to fight? Fingers claw the air helplessly, flailing wildly, body shifting in freefall from the effort. The next floor is love in the form of an unmade bed; a couple presses together. Her legs wrap around his body, pulling him, wanting him. His hand rests on her breast as he caresses the vessel of life, the place for nurturing and growing, and God's face is there, looking on, with a smile, for he is pleased. Or, is it just lusty procreation and could that be the devil giving direction? 

The Sentinel squirms, eyes clenched, shut tight with feelings of regret. Can I stop it the Sentinel wonders? Can I return to my window and the familiar stench of the nest? If only I had shut them down. If only I had not looked so long - left them to their lives and gone about my business. A tear slides across the Sentinel's cheek, pushed by the wind as the freefall continues. The tear disappears in the air like a magic act perfectly executed.

"On this floor you'll find the real reason for living," chides the impish elevator operator. And there he is. Small and vulnerable - mouth, open in a primal cry. Id brought to life and voice. As the mother lifts him to the window, the baby's arms flail about as if imitating the Sentinel's own wild gyrations. Her eyes lock on the Sentinel's as the pavement rushes up, and the dream deepens. 

The Sentinel's own body relaxes in the old barrister's chair as the mother sends out tranquility by way of a kiss, blown out the passing window. Quiet resignation settles on the Sentinel as if the kiss was a lifeline, and it keeps the Sentinel warm for the last half second before impact.

"Ground floor. Time to get off, folks. Hope your ride with us today has been a good one - one to make your visit worthwhile. Please watch your step as you get off."

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo." The cry is savage as the Sentinel jerks awake, sitting upright, rigid in the old leather chair. Still startled and sucking in air, the Sentinel looks around the dismal room, lined with flickering screens and longs to finish the dream.

* * * * *

It had been slow and gentle - Jan undressing Jack, exploring his body, and stopping to inspect and kiss his wounds. It had been purposeful as they sought gratification so long denied, and had found it in the warmth of another human's tender touch as love was administered as well as taken.

In the shower afterwards, they had washed each other slowly, taking care to lavish the other's body in suds and attention. Kissing Jack once again, Jan had poured the suds and warm water over his balls and cock until a stirring started again. "Wait, Jack. As much as I want you now, we'll need that for later."

They had moved around the bedroom, testing camera angles and movements to insure Jack could participate without being recognized - setting the stage. It was agreed that Jan would be in the picture completely, as always. Jack's laptop sat on the floor to one side of the bed out of sight. Logged into the same service Jan was using, they were 'Sharing Desktops' which gave Jack a window that showed Jan's computer screen. They had centered the chat window and cam so both could be seen on Jack's computer. Using some freeware Jack had come across, his computer was set to copy what happened at a frame per second while they were on cam with the killer that evening. He wasn't taking any chances of loosing data.

They had devised a scenario designed to bring 'cyber' Lisa on cam; or if they could, simply to provoke a reaction and see if somehow the killer slipped up.

Logging on, it was still a little early so Jan returned to the bed and snuggled in beside Jack, her body molded to his. "Jack, whatever happens, that was nice. I see now why Lisa loved you so much."

* * * * *

"And do you know where he is?"

"Yes, Sir, we have men on the beach, on each side of the property, another at the entrance, and we're patrolling the road to insure there are no vehicles parked that look out of place."

"Okay, I told you several times, but I want to reiterate; money is not an object. If they split up, I want your people to stay with both of them. If your people fuck this up, heads will roll."

"Yes, sir, we understand."

Hanging up the phone, Juan leaned back in his chair and wondered. Could he really do this? Go through with it? Should he consult someone or keep it all low-key? If anything went wrong, there could be hell to pay later. 

* * * * *

After a year without Hank, Jan had accepted one of Dave's joking invitations for dinner and a movie, thinking he might be someone that would understand - a warm body she could share some space with and not become too complicated. It turned out that in spite of appearances, he had proven to be a particularly immature man with some real issues concerning the opposite sex. Suddenly, Jan had found herself more committed than ever to her cyber-relationship with Lisa. 

This left Dave lounging on his bed, wearing nothing but briefs as he watched the two computer screens. He knew his 'Jan' would be out shortly, as always. Hitting an icon, he watched his programs loading and reached for a Kleenex box.

Money could buy a lot of female companionship, and enough money let you do pretty much what you pleased with that companionship. She may not be with him physically now - that had been a disaster - but he could still smell her perfume and feel the touch of her hand.

Dave didn't understand kindness or polite tolerance. He thought Jan's acceptance of his joking insistence had been a signal that yes, he had a chance, and yes, it could happen. He knew she didn't see anyone else other than another woman in chat, but that was okay, in fact, that kind of made it all the more exciting, more titillating. 

To Dave, the talk of another person being introduced as well as Jan's beautiful nude body, made it that much more interesting. Yes, that other guy may be with her, but he knew that wouldn't interfere or last. The guy may be around a night or two, but she'd always be back to smile and say 'hi' to him as she arrived in the mornings and when she left in the evenings. 

Hank's invitation to participate in the start-up company had been a god-send, and now, Dave enjoyed both money and respect - well, respect from most people. He'd also learned what could be done with money, the pleasures that high technology and a few hackers' programs could bring right into his bedroom.

Yes, his 'Jan ' would be back.



The Sentinel Ch. 05



Even more beers later, Linda found her way home and trudged up the stairs, pausing on the second floor as if contemplating something. At last in the sanctuary of her apartment, she'd wandered around dropping clothes and had found another beer in the refrigerator. Then she was off to the shower where she took her time. She had decided she might as well show them all of it. Reaching for the soap, she lathered between her legs and found a razor.

Turning from the mirror over the sink, she decided no makeup would be needed; she wasn't planning on showing her face or head - just her body, albeit every inch of it. She was finally going to see what it felt like after having been a silent watcher so long. From voyeur to center stage, she now planned on seeing if this new level, this new dimension, could be as much of a turn-on as they all seemed to think - as much of a turn-on as it looked like from the outside.

Linda knew Jan would be there, and she planned on using her, on enjoying her body, and focusing completely on loosing herself in Jan's arms and legs, mouth and eyes. Linda found herself wet at the thought of Jan's mouth on hers, the thought of her own fingers exploring Jan's body, pinching her nipples and moving down between her thighs where Linda was sure she would surrender everything as she leaned in for a taste. 

Yes, Linda planned on using Jan tonight, more than ever.

* * * * *

Jack sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing briefs, while Jan sat at her writing table with a glass of white wine, chatting with 'cyber' Lisa. Lisa had seen Jack immediately and was ecstatic. "But why can't I see all of him?" Lisa had asked. "He's shy, Lisa. He's not an old hand at this like you and me," Jan had explained. Typing a cyber-laugh, she'd gone on to explain they were lucky to have this much of him.

Jan continued with how they'd met. His name was 'Fred', and they'd met at the bank Jan dealt with. They'd been dating for a couple of weeks, and Jan had not intended to, well... go public with him except for the insistence of Lisa. He'd been wounded once in a robbery and was a little self-conscious about a couple of scars he had, but - and Jan thought Lisa would agree - he was not at all a bad specimen.

Jack glanced off to the side to confirm his program was running. He could see Jan in her white silk pajamas, and he saw his own legs, stretched out and crossed at the ankles behind her. As Jan and Lisa talked, the chat scrolled across the screen. To the right, a small red icon flashed 'Recording', and Jack could see the hard drive light flash occasionally as information was saved to the hard drive.

Looking back to Jan, he could see her body shift and hear small laughs and sighs as her audible response to the chat mimicked her written response even though Lisa couldn't hear it. 

* * * * *

It had taken a minute, but Dave finally had Jan tuned in and was at first, perplexed, then, a little excited as he realized tonight would be different. Tonight there would be another body there to touch Jan, to kiss her body, suck her nipples. He didn't care if it was someone else's cock she slid in slowly; it was a cock and could just as easily be his own. God, he hoped she sucked the guy off; he had to have her lips around his cock. 

She wore her white silk pajamas that he'd seen before and always enjoyed because he knew what was underneath. He could faintly make out the shape of her nipples through the fabric as she moved and laughed. Yes, that was his Jan.

Pulling the Kleenex box closer, he knew he would need it tonight. Tonight would be the best. Tonight, he would loose himself in Jan's arms as she used the other idiot as a tool to reach out to him. Tomorrow, he would find the courage to continue to do what he knew was the right thing. It might take a week or two, but he knew she would think differently once it was finished.

* * * * *

John sat in his den. He had his laptop and desktop both turned on. One was tuned into the chat room that he and his 'Buddies' used and the other was waiting for 'her' to come on-line. The lights were off - the wife and kids banished to a movie - so he was alone. 

John's drink, bourbon on the rocks, sat beside his ashtray. A cigarette burned, the smoke wafting up, making grey swirls in front of the screens. A box of Kleenex was off to the side; he was sure he'd need them tonight. 

Looking at the sheet of paper again, he guessed Linda's audience tonight would be at about 100. He'd spread the word through mails and chat all evening as the time she'd given neared. He'd known she was just another 'Cyber-Slut', willing to drop her panties at the drop of a hat. He knew she was just like the rest - sticky fingers and all. He'd also known that he wanted her - wanted to see her naked, wanted to watch as she dug her fingers in between her thighs and brought them out to lick before returning for more - just like all the rest.

Hell, he thought, what he really wanted was to bend her over her desk and fuck her hard as she squirmed under his hands, her ass pushing against him as she begged him not to stop. Yeah, he could do that; he could do that better than she'd ever had. She was just another bitch, and his father had shown him what bitches were for.

Of course, they were all sluts and idiots; he would never go on cam and jerk off like this bunch of idiots. His wife would run from such a thought - the thought of him putting her on cam so the 'boys' could enjoy her, watch her, and he could watch them with their cocks in their hands 'getting it on'. He was sure he'd shoot her if he caught her doing such things in a chat room, well... if she didn't tell him anyway. No, they weren't like that. They were different. These people were probably the sickest bunch of scum bags on the face of the earth as far as he was concerned. Who gave a shit if the majority of them earned more than he did, had a higher education level than he did, or basically, were well-balanced people that most people enjoyed being around? What gave them the right to come out and show off their bodies, and then to 'do it' to other people while they showed their bodies arched back, fingers sliding along their thighs, cocks in hand, and legs spread so everyone 'got a good look'?

Taking another drink, John reached for a Kleenex and wiped the sweat from his brow. Then he took a drag from his cigarette and a quick scan of his two computer screens while he idly clicked open a couple of cams he knew had some 'real hot stuff' going on. Without thinking, his hand was in his boxers as he slowly stretched and pulled his cock. 

No more of that high and mighty bullshit from Linda. No more getting the attention of the Captain, getting the funding, getting the glory. No, he was going to fix her good, he thought as he pulled a little harder and felt the satisfying rush as his cock became hard. Besides, John knew his secret was the best kept of them all. 

Bunch of sick fucks, his bourbon-laced mind thought as he leaned back in his chair, watching several cams and noticing that Jan seemed to have brought company with her. Damn, it was going to be a great night, John thought.

* * * * *

They had discussed the plan several times. They decided the killer was turned on somehow or, if not turned on, then excited in a way they couldn't imagine by what he watched on-screen. Hell, they didn't care; they would settle for agitated. Jan and Jack planned on steaming up the screen as much as possible, drawing out the foreplay and watching 'cyber' Lisa's' reaction in chat. When they were sure they had drawn the killer into their drama completely, they were going to stop the show under the pretext that 'Fred' didn't think it was fair. He wanted to see Lisa, too, and wouldn't go any further. The hope was that 'cyber' Lisa would become agitated enough that a mistake would be made - something said in chat to give a clue. They really didn't expect a cam to be turned on.

"No more chat, Lisa. Let's make love - the three of us. Come on Lisa, turn your cam on and join us."

"Jan, you know I can't. I wish I could, but I'm so, well, ugly now. I look awful. But please, Jan, you and Fred. I'll talk to you, let you know I'm here, enjoying."

With that, Jack watched as Jan stood and moved the chair from between the writing table and the bed. Turning towards the bed, she leaned in on her hands, over Jack's feet, and bent down to kiss his knee. Jan spoke to Jack in a soft whisper while her face was out of the camera line and Lisa was enjoying her ass as the fabric of her pajamas stretched tight, "Enjoy, Jack. I want you to. And I want to, also."

With that, Jan stood again, hooking her thumbs in the elastic of her pajama bottom and pushed them down. Glancing at the computer on the floor, Jack saw Jan's ass appear below the edge of her pajama top and saw Lisa's chat appear.

"You're beautiful, Jan. I want you. I want his cock in you so I can feel it."

Leaning on the bed again, this time Jan exposed her bare ass completely, the dark line of her crack centered in the screen as she crawled up to straddle Jack's legs, opening herself more to Lisa. Moving close enough to kiss him, she whispered, "Take my top off, Jack. Enjoy me." Obediently his hands came up and slowly unbuttoned her top, sliding it back and letting it fall on the bed beside them.

Glancing at the computer on the floor again, Jack could see Jan's naked body with her ass over his knees and her thighs making a V as she kissed him. His cock stirred as he saw Lisa's chat come up again.

"God, Jan, I love you. I want you. I want you to enjoy him for me. Please, Jan," 'cyber' Lisa pleaded.

It didn't matter that Jan wasn't watching the chat. 'Cyber' Lisa didn't expect her to. It was for later, for reading back together and enjoying the moment. It was their word images to retrace the experience with. 

Scooting up over Jack's hips, Jan sat firmly on the bulge in his briefs and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was long, starting tender and becoming passionate as she opened his mouth with her tongue and pushed it in deep, probing. Jack had wanted to stay as detached as possible but finally gave up when Jan leaned away a little and looked at him, stern and searching, begging him silently to get involved, to love her back. And he did. He forgot about his laptop, trusting it to record everything for them. He brought his arms up around Jan and pulled her to him, matching her passion before lifting it another notch. 

* * * * *

Dave couldn't believe his eyes as he watched Jan's ass spread over the hard bulge of the other idiot's briefs. Pulling languidly on his cock, he only wanted to enjoy the feeling. He wanted to wait - until she went down on the idiot, until his cock disappeared into her mouth, until she labored and made the idiot cum - to join in.

Reaching for the keyboard, he typed frantically with one hand.

* * * * *

John had abandoned his bourbon and left his cigarette to burn down to the filter in the ashtray as he watched her lift off the bulge in the guy's briefs. Then he caught a glimpse of her hand, as it reached between the two of them to pull his cock out. What a bunch of sick fucks, John thought as he squeezed and pulled his own cock, waiting for the right moment.

Turning to Linda's cam, he couldn't believe his eyes. Yes, she was there, sticky fingers and all. Another slut, for sure, as he watched her hand disappear off screen. Probably sucking them clean, you bitch. That's right, do it right.

Damn, she wasn't showing her face. That could be any slut's body. Hell, maybe Linda had some dyke friend come over and do it for her. We'll see, he thought. Once they get started, they eventually ended up showing it all. They couldn't resist.

* * * * *

Linda sat naked in her computer chair, facing her screens. She could see her own naked image on one of the screens, and it was a new experience. Her legs were draped over the chair's arms, her ass forward a little on the seat, exposed completely to the camera and its viewers. Beside her picture on the computer screen was Jan. No chat now. No looking and searching. No following other people's words as they scrolled across the screen. 

She could see herself in her own picture as her finger moved delicately across her clit, sliding down one lip and up the other before spreading her lips and sliding in. Looking up a little, she could see her breasts, her nipples flush and hard; her boyfriend had called them a nice hand full. Just above that were her shoulders and then the edge of the screen, cutting off her head, preserving her anonymity. Focusing on Jan as she pulled the man's cock out of the top of his briefs, Linda actually held her breath as Jan sat on it, slowly - first holding it against her crack, then pulling her hand away, and sliding down, oh, so, slowly. Linda could actually feel it inside as it spread Jan. Linda wanted to lick the hard cock, to taste Jan as her own fingers came up to her mouth off screen to lick them clean. 

Bringing both hands down and making a V with her fingers, Linda spread her lips, exposing her clit where the first finger of her other hand danced. Her mind wandered to John and his 'crew'. How many were tuned in? How many were sitting in some dark room, jerking on their cocks as they watched? Would she loose her job or would something else happen, something better? Could she gain power? Yes, right now, she had the power as she pulled two fingers out, wet and sticky, and held them out to the camera. She had promised, hadn't she - sticky fingers and all.

She hadn't been this wet for a long time and could feel it as it ran down her crack onto the seat to puddle in a damp spot. Pushing two fingers in, Linda tightened her legs on the chair arms in order to lift her ass and scoot back an inch before she slid off the chair. The tightening around her fingers was exquisite.

Right now, Linda had the power, and she knew it. They were all out there, including John - rapt, glued to their screens with their pants around their ankles, one hand on their cock, and the other holding a Kleenex at the ready. Yes, I have control now, thought Linda as she watched Jan pull up leaving a slick sheen on the guy's cock. Ummmmm…let me help, Jan.

* * * * *

Jan kissed Jack again as she looked into his eyes. Pulling up off his cock, she moved to one side to lie beside him. Her head was on his stomach as she looked past his swollen, wet cock at the camera, wanting 'cyber' Lisa's full attention. Giving an air kiss for Lisa, Jan's hand came up to pull Jack's cock to her mouth. Licking across the end, she stared at the camera as she sucked just the head. Moving her hand toward her mouth, she sucked and was rewarded with a moan from Jack. 

Pulling back, she continued working slowly on Jack's cock as she whispered, "Put your hand on my head, Jack. Make me go down the next time." With that, she moved back to Jack's cock and put the head in her mouth, sucking hard as she enjoyed his moan again. Then she could feel his fingers in her hair as he ran them from the nape of her neck to the back of her head and pushed to test the waters. The reward for him was half an inch more of his cock in her mouth and a throaty moan. With that, Jack laced his fingers in her hair and pushed her down until he could feel his cock on the back of her throat. Pulling back, she sucked as she came off his cock. Jack's breathing was heavy, and Jan was smiling at the camera. Jan repeated this several times, and Jack was finding it difficult to control himself. He was relieved when Jan finally stopped, unsure how much more he could stand. 

Releasing Jack's cock, Jan stood and walked slowly to her computer. Leaning over the table, her breasts swayed seductively as she typed.

"I'm enjoying it, Lisa, are you?"

She had to wait 15 seconds for a reply, and she guessed that the killer's hands were busy. Then it came.

"No, don't stop, Jan. All of it. It's so good, Jan. Suck him off. I want to see the cum on your tongue - on our tongue, Jan. Give me more."

"He says he won't, Lisa. He wants to see you, too." Jan tried to sound pleading while keeping it light. 

There was a hesitation, then, "You know I can't, Jan. Tell him to do it. Doesn't he want you?"

Looking over her shoulder at Jack as he sat there with his cock, wet and swollen, watching her standing at the computer and taking in her body, she turned back with an evil grin and typed, "I think so, Lisa. I think he wants to jump me right here at the table, but he says, no deal unless he can see you."

"Jan, I want you. I need you. Please, Jan." Lisa's typing was quick and seemed frantic.

Walking back to Jack, Jan leaned down and sucked the head of his cock again before swinging her leg over his thighs to sit on his cock. As they had agreed, Jack pushed her off and pulled his knees up so 'Lisa' could no longer see him.

Kneeling beside Jack on the bed, Jan turned toward the camera and exaggerated a pout before sliding off to walk back to the computer. "He says no, Lisa; he wants to see you."

This was the moment. They had created the desire and hopefully, involved the killer enough that he would do anything to have them finish. They hoped that the killer had his cock in his hand and wanted to finish - wanted the rush of cuming with them. Jan turned from the computer and curled up on the bed beside Jack, just low enough so her head was still in the picture. With her knees up covering her body and one heel pressed into her crack to cover that, as well, Jan placed her chin on Jack's knees and stared at the camera, pouting. 

* * * * *

Dave moaned when he realized the show was over. He could see them both naked on the bed, but strategic placement of legs and hands had taken away the 'view'. And she had done it; she had been sucking the idiot's cock. He had seen his cock disappear completely in her mouth as the jerk had pushed her head down, making her do it. Yes, he wanted more. He was so close, and she quit.

Reaching for the keyboard with one hand, Dave started to type with his Kleenex balanced precariously on his thigh, and the other hand keeping up a steady rhythm.

* * * * *

John jerked and squeezed hard to keep from cumming when he realized Linda had pulled her hands away and brought her legs down off the chair arms. Looking at the other cam on his screen, he realized they had stopped, too. "What the fuck, bitch?" How the hell could they do this? How could they stop? His thinking was foggy as he moaned a little. "Sick fucks, they're all a bunch of sick fucks."

He'd take care of all of them, he thought as he reached for his bottle to pour another. Downing the drink in one swallow, his fingers hovered over the keyboard as he searched for the right letters.

* * * * *

Jack and Jan watched the screen as Jan's hand moved up and down slowly on his cock, hidden behind his legs. They were sure that Lisa could see the movement and knew what was happening. 

What would happen now? Had it all been for nothing? Jan could feel Jack's hand moving up and down her back, his touch gentle and loving as his fingers traced her spine. "Thank you, Jack," she whispered as they continued their Mexican standoff.

Then, it happened. A small grey box appeared on Jan's screen with the word 'connecting….' Jan tensed, her nails digging into Jack's leg as they waited and suddenly, the black backdrop of their own picture was replaced by a picture of a woman. It was a dingy room with the lighting behind the subject and above. The color on the body was faded, more black and white than color due to the lighting. It showed a full, naked body shot with no head, thighs together, and hands resting on the arm of the chair with a flimsy T.V. tray table beside it, holding a keyboard.

Jack glanced to the side to be sure his computer was capturing the picture, and yes, as far as he could tell, it was. In a whisper he said, "You need to kill your monitoring picture so we can see everything".




The Sentinel Ch. 05



With that, Jan slid off the bed, moving to her computer to type.

"Lisa! Wow! This is great. I haven't seen you in so long."

There was no response as Jan went quickly to options and killed the view she had of her own picture which would give them a full view of the picture being sent to them. Waiting half a minute more with no response, Jan typed.

"What a treat, babe. You look as good as ever. It can't be all that bad."

Fifteen seconds and no chat. Suddenly, the woman raised her legs and draped them over the arms of her chair with one hand coming down to press below her shaved pubic area. Deciding it was time to give a little more, to keep the killer, or maybe, the killer's girlfriend involved, Jan typed.

"I love you, Lisa. Now let's do this together."

When she turned, she saw Jack staring off to the side at the image on the screen. She knew it wasn't the sight of Lisa's naked body that had his attention. It was the fact it was a woman. Sitting at the end of the bed, Jan patted the space beside her, and said, "Jack, come here; you can see what's happening better."

Jack scooted forward, careful to keep his head and face above the line of the camera, and lowered his legs over the edge of the bed, his cock semi-hard now from the distractions and lack of attention. Jan leaned in to kiss his cheek and noticed he was transfixed by the image on the screen - transfixed by the thought that he could be looking at Lisa's killer.

"Jack, come back to me. We need to get a shot of her head."

With that, Jan moved to the floor in front of Jack, knelt between his knees and took his cock in her hand. With a squeeze and a slight pull, Jan leaned in to suck. Her attentions were thorough as she moved up and down on his now completely hard cock, with small sucking sounds mixed in with moans as she worked.

* * * * *

That's right, Jan. Do it right. Do it to me. Dave leaned back in his chair and watched Jan as she worked on the idiot's cock. She should always have been mine, he thought. And soon, she would be - his resolve setting in.

* * * * *

Jan stood and pushed Jack back a few feet on the bed. Facing the camera, her back to Jack, she straddled Jack's thighs and slid his cock in again. With her hand down, finger pressing on her clit, she watched Lisa. Moving slowly, rhythmically, up and down on Jack's cock while squeezing with her thighs, she watched Lisa as she struggled to scoot back on the chair, her hands working as they covered her clit and her swollen, wet crack.

* * * * *

Linda watched Jan, now facing the camera, Linda's hand working, seemingly with her own. Yes, she could get lost in Jan. She knew it now. And for some reason, at some level, Linda knew that Jan could be the one. Part of her mind continued that thought while the other part moved her hands and raised her hips as she squeezed around her fingers.

Yes, I can feel it building. Are you watching assholes? She felt an empty space in her stomach as it started, and then it happened. Just as Linda started to cum, her thighs, jerking in on her hand, caused her to slip in her own juices. Her bottom pushed past the end of the chair, and her shoulders and head came down. Her face contorted in a strange mixture of pleasure and concern, lips parting slightly as she fought to breathe. Linda struggled to get back up and at the same time, not loose contact with Jan. She saw Jan, her finger still moving over her clit and the man, his cock glistening as it was exposed once more before being covered.

Biting her lip, Linda finally pulled her hands from between her thighs and reached frantically for the arms of the chair to push herself back in place; then her hands moved frantically back between her legs.

* * * * *

John couldn't believe his eyes as Linda slid down into view. Yes, it was her; there she was looking out between her breasts. Yes, you bitch, I have you now. Hitting the capture button on the keyboard of his office laptop, he saved several shots of Linda to the hard drive. Then pulling his cock, he reached frantically for a Kleenex as he thought of what he would do to Linda.

* * * * *

Dave was trying to catch his breath, furious that he hadn't been able to keep up with Jan and the idiot. How the hell could he keep it up so long with Jan sliding over his cock like that? He looked at his wadded, soggy Kleenex and threw it into the corner; then he watched as Jan suddenly moved out of the picture and kneeled again beside the idiot to suck him. How could she do that he wondered? How could she keep doing that when I've already finished? Bitch. His fantasy of him and Jan together, her laughing and hanging on his arm, suddenly clouded, as he watched Jan swallowing the other jerk off's cum. "You'll get yours," he yelled as he watched, his hand coming up to wipe a small line of spittle from the corner of his mouth. Yes, I'll show you, bitch, and his mind wandered as he lost himself in the dark fantasy.

* * * * *

The Sentinel sat exhausted. Coming back slowly from the plateau of ecstasy reached only seconds before. Breathing became normal, and muscles started to relax. Looking at the screens, the Sentinel felt sweet relief - something that had been missing for some time now. Fixing on Jan as she turned to smile at the camera with a small line of cum on her lower lip, the Sentinel vowed to do more than watch. There had been enough watching. The Sentinel knew that Jan would be it – a gut feeling, nothing more, but time would help put the pieces together. Resolve set in as the Sentinel dropped a Kleenex to the floor.

* * * * *

Jan stood and leaned into Jack, wanting him to feel good about what had just happened, wanting him to know it was more than just trapping a killer that had driven her. Licking her swollen lips, she kissed him as a lover would and felt a small thrill at his response in kind. Pausing to look at him before turning away, she hoped he understood the look and knew the message.

While leaning over her computer and smiling into the cam, she noticed Lisa's picture had disappeared just as she started typing.

"Don't leave us, Lisa. Come back."

"Jan, I have to for now. But Jan, I love you; remember that always."

With that, the connection was broken, and, Jan could see, checking her contact list, that Lisa was no longer on-line. She turned to Jack with a questioning look, and he just shrugged. Hitting the disconnect, she moved back up on the bed and wrapped herself around his body and in his arms.

Their breathing settled slowly, and Jack finally whispered in a hoarse voice. "We got something, I can't believe it."

It wasn't exactly the response Jan wanted, but she understood his priorities right now. She wondered if he realized that she had gotten so much more.



The Sentinel Ch. 06



Marge walked around the kitchen in her old blue bathrobe, tattered for the wear, but comfortable and familiar; she used it every morning to start her day. Her house slippers, green fuzzy things that had been given to her by her kids a couple of years ago, made swishing sounds as she shuffled from the counter to the refrigerator to the table to the sink and started the routine of her morning "chores" - cleaning up the war zone left by a parting husband and two kids. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about it, trying to recall what it had been like before - what it had been like when her world consisted of chores, scheduled around her favorite TV soaps, with the occasional outing to the grocery store. She remembered how the highlight to a week might have been a trip to the mall where she would have walked among the store fronts and looked at the plastic people in the store windows, draped in fashionable clothes that she would never dream of wearing. But all that had changed. 

Having put the kitchen in order, Marge moved from bedroom to bedroom, making beds and picking up dirty clothes which were always deposited more or less in the same place each morning. Since her husband was able to find the same spot to drop his dirty underwear in every morning, day in and day out, she wondered why that spot couldn't be the clothes hamper just outside the bedroom door? And he'd been drinking last night; the bed 'smelled' of it - reeked would be more like it, she thought with disgust.

Idly, she moved around the upper floor of the house, wondering when their bed had become another negative in their lives. She searched for the moment as she pulled discussions and memories out of the closet that she kept her life in, turning them over and putting them on like a homeless person trying on clothes at the Goodwill. They all seemed shabby, and nothing fit quite right so she shoved it all back into the closet and firmly locked the door. No, she decided with resolve, not today. Today was one of her special days, and she wasn't going to let it be ruined by aimless wanderings down memory's dead-end street.

Her daughter's room was a stark contradiction to Marge's. As she made the bed and dusted the furniture, she was watched by gaudy, full color posters that covered most of the wall space - longhaired rockers with anorexic bodies poised over guitars as they stared out, inviting her to come along for the ride. Their only redeeming feature was one that spoke of prowess - imagined or real - the bulge in their leather pants. Walking around with a duster, she flicked here and there, trying to set things in place and put shoes back into the closet. How could her daughter do it, Marge wondered as she turned the four-inch spikes with ankle straps upside down and put them on the shoe rack at the bottom of her daughter's closet? If she only knew what those things were going to do to her feet by the time she was 30, maybe then, she'd spend more time in her Nikes. But then, the Nikes wouldn't go too well with this, she guessed as she picked up a red leather mini-skirt that was barely as wide as a belt. 

She and her daughter weren't talking much these days. It had all come from that fight three months ago when Marge had found the thigh highs tucked away in her daughter's bottom dresser drawer. She wasn't really sure what they were at first, but pulling them out and looking at the lace top a few seconds, she'd figured it out. The following Saturday, she'd studied her daughter a little closer as she'd run back upstairs to get something she'd forgotten before going out, and there they were, just under the edge of her skirt - the lace top of her thigh highs. Monitoring her daughter's shower, she had finally put the routine together. The lacy thongs that scarcely covered seemed to be for school during the week, but the weekend produced no damp panties hanging on the inside of the shower door so Marge figured thigh highs meant no panties.

It brought new meaning to the lecherous smiles that her boyfriends always seemed to have as they waited in the foyer for Vicky's appearance before leaving for a 'concert' or 'movie'. Right, Marge thought, and I'll be having tea with the Queen.

A few more weeks passed before Marge finally decided that she needed to talk to Vicky. If nothing else, Marge owed it to her daughter to try and save her from a life of regrets - something Marge knew all too well. She knew the drudgery of marrying too young; she had given up the last two years of college for the dream of a marriage she had witnessed in her parents' lives. But in her own marriage, the dream had always seemed just out of reach. Just one day, she wanted to keep Vicky home from school to have her pick up her father's dirty underwear and to make the bed that stunk of whatever he'd been drinking the night before when he was up until all hours, shut up in his study.

She wanted to shake her daughter and say, 'there's more to it than this', but when Marge tried, one Saturday afternoon over coffee, to make her daughter her friend, the only reaction to her attempt was a defiant stare. Then her daughter had told her that 'sixteen was the time to live', and she had to do it now because 'she was sure she'd end up a frumpy old mom just like her'. Sitting across the table from this stranger, dressed in a mid-drift top, her nipples hard and pressing against the fabric, her jeans molded to every curve and crack of her ass and thighs, it hadn't been the words that had hurt; it had been the defiance. It had been in the body language and the look that had said 'look at me, I'm hot' while you're nothing but a 'frumpy old mother'; what do you know anyway?

Then things had become heated as they often do when two generations suddenly find the chasm between them entirely too wide for crossing - when the only thing left is yelling at each other from opposite sides as they slowly drift farther apart. And all that time, Marge had been watching her daughter whose body language oozed sex in a well-developed 'cum fuck me' façade, and she worried. 'You're just jealous', her daughter had finally intoned as she pushed away from the table and strode off, her ass moving with the same hypnotic sway that movie starlets often had to practice to get right.

Later, Marge had reflected on her own life and wondered if she was angry because her sixteen-year-old daughter was probably having sex at her age or that she was having more sex in a weekend than Marge did in a month. 

Closing the door on those memories, too, Marge moved on to her son's bedroom, 'a chip off the old block' with his dirty underwear and wadded up socks; video games, stacked and strewn around; and dirty balls of Kleenex thrown under the bed. At fourteen, he seemed to be living the transition from games to girls, indicated by the pimples and the Playboys she'd found stacked in his closet between his gaming magazines.

Her life had become bathrooms and beds, she thought as she finally finished the upstairs. She planned on making quick work of the rest of the house; she had things to do. This was one of the special days, and she didn't plan on being late.

Vacuuming the den, she decided the living room and dining room were fine today. Besides, no one seemed to notice, anyway. What was the point? The study was in its usual morning disorder with cigarette butts overflowing and a half empty, old-fashioned glass that smelled of watered down bourbon; the sides of the glass were filthy with smudged fingerprints from hands that had been doing who knows what. She picked up the glass in disdain between two fingers, much as a maid in a motel might, unsure exactly what the glass had been used for or what those smudges might really be. She picked up the wads of Kleenex on the floor with even more care, knowing exactly what was in them. Yes, she had to admit; she'd married a pig.

But she couldn't begrudge him too much, not now - not after he'd opened the door to her new 'life' by forgetting one night to turn off his computer. Making her rounds one morning, she'd found it - the screen saver, running with pictures of dancing girls, surely as young as his daughter, in swimsuits that barely covered every nipple or pubic hair. Even when the swimsuits managed to cover those parts, the material did little to disguise the folds of their lips under the bikini bottoms, inviting a touch or second look.

Her duster, hitting a key, had actually opened the door because she would never have dreamed of touching the computer otherwise. At first, she'd been gripped by fear when the screen had gone black and she thought she'd broken it. A small green light blinked, and motor seemed to start running. Then, suddenly, the screen had come to life - a blue grey background with a lot of writing, small symbols that looked like a microphone, a speaker, and other things she couldn't quite make out. There was a list of strange names to the left - some of them black, the others grey, and a few colored banners that moved and changed without prompting, inviting the viewer to 'Sign Up Today' and get a free porn CD. But what really caught her attention were the five little boxes open at seemingly random locations around the screen.

They all had grainy pictures of people in different settings - most of them in chairs and one on a bed, three alone and two couples. She had gasped when she realized they were all naked or almost so. Two of the naked bodies were women, sitting in chairs, feet propped up somewhere out of camera range, fingers frozen over the space between their thighs. The pictures were so grainy that she couldn't see the detail of what their hands were doing, but she knew, at once, what her husband had been watching the night before. In another 'box', she saw a fat man, his flabby, white stomach stretched as he leaned back in a chair and a woman, eyes closed, with his cock in her mouth, her face clearly visible as she sucked him off. Another one showed a man sitting alone in a dark room, barely visible, but she could still see his hand on his cock which was huge. She felt the flush on her neck as she leaned in to inspect his balls which seemed as big as golf balls and his cock that could accommodate easily both of his hands and still not be covered.

Suddenly, another movement caught her eye, and she'd looked at the last box to find a young woman, lying on her back, in bed with what looked like another woman who was lying on her stomach between the other woman's legs. The movement seemed jerky, and Marge wasn't sure exactly what she was watching. At first, she thought her husband had been watching porno films on his computer, but then, she finally realized what the round ball on top of his monitor was - a camera. She was watching people having sex using a camera like his.

Looking back at the moving box, she saw the woman, lying on her stomach move up and over the other woman and then lean down to kiss her. She was transfixed as she saw the woman on top reach out to a keyboard between them and the camera and begin to type. A second later, she'd seen the woman laugh, or appear to, and then move back down between the other woman's legs where she'd started to lick again.

Marge had fallen into her husband's chair, her mouth open as she struggled to breath. What the hell is this, she wanted to know? What had the asshole been up to? She'd spent more than an hour sitting there, watching the women 'do it' - seeing the arched backs as they'd traded positions; noticing how they constantly paused to type; sometimes laughing, their mouths opening wide; their bodies shifting in each other's arms as they seemed to find something very funny. While watching, she'd noticed the dark picture with the man and his cock had come to life as his hand started moving up and down, slowly, around his cock.

She'd been mesmerized as the man would release his cock to reach for something before grabbing it again. Finally, she'd figured out he was typing, too. She watched the two women finish, and after a few minutes of lying in each other's arms, they'd both moved to the edge of the bed in front of the cam. Both their heads were cut off as they took turns passing the keyboard from one to the other, typing something, and then laughing again. Watching the man, she noticed how his cock stood there hard, bobbing over his thighs, each time he released it to type. Then she saw how he stopped releasing it - how one hand was constantly moving on it as he leaned in to type with the other hand. She wasn't sure if he was talking to the two women or not, but she noticed that one of them had spread her knees for the camera - showing it all - bare lips with the pubic hair shaved away completely. As the other woman stood and kneeled, burying her head between the thighs of the other woman, the image of kneeling woman's ass was clearly visible for the camera. The man seemed to have stopped typing in order to give his full attention to his cock, and Marge stared slack-jawed as the head erupted in white with so much cum that it covered the head of his cock and ran down over his fingers. So much cum. Marge was sure the man was deformed; no one could have such a huge cock and balls and be able to produce so much cum.

She had felt so hot, flushed from the whole thing. She'd left the computer running and practically run to the shower where she'd stood under the water, sobbing - not sure why she was sobbing exactly or what should be upsetting her, but sobbing just the same. At last, finding the soap and starting to shower, her fingers had discovered what her mind had denied; she was wet between her legs - not just wet - soaked.

Half an hour later, warm and relaxed from her shower, she'd been back in front of her husband's computer. With a little trial and error, she'd discovered how to open and close different boxes and where everyone's typing appeared. It had all been confusing the first week as she wandered aimlessly, learning how to turn the computer on, and how to find the program, and real panic had occurred when she thought she couldn't get it back. But finally, she had discovered how to type in the box and could follow most of the lines of text as it streamed across the screen in the 'Chat' box.

After another month of midday surfing, she'd stopped going to the shower to enjoy the sensations her body was left with and had started staying in the study with the blinds and curtains closed tight, lest a neighbor walk by and see. She'd even discovered how to create her own user name and identity, as well as how to get her picture up on the screen with the camera. Angel_ eyez appealed to her, and she'd been overjoyed when she discovered no one else had the name and it was now her 'chat' ID.

But that was long ago, she thought, as she finished showering, having carefully shaved between her legs and stepping out to find a towel. It was 12:30; she still had half an hour. In her bedroom she went to the closet and pulled out an old hatbox her mother had given her that had contained old family photos and letters - all long ago pasted and tucked into scrap books. At the time, she was unsure why she'd kept the box, but now, she was glad to have the extra clutter in the top of her closet. 

Removing the top of the hatbox, she pulled out a white silk camisole and matching white thigh highs; then she walked to the closet for some black high heels which looked like her daughter's shoes with ankle straps and four-inch heels. Yes, today was one of her special days, she thought.

* * * * *

And there she was. The Sentinel smiled, having grown fond of her. She'd appeared several months ago, tentative in her frumpy blue robe - a 'newbie' as they were known in the rooms. But this was not a timid woman; this was not someone to be brushed aside as her husband and children had. This was a noble being, trapped in a life she had finally decided to change. It all came out, didn't it? Phrases here, little bits of information there. If you watched long enough, you could learn someone's life, know their desires, what they liked and didn't like, but most importantly -where their buttons were and how best to push them.

Yes, the Sentinel always enjoyed time with angel_eyez. The Sentinel knew it had become like clockwork for her, always putting her house in order before going to her hideaway to pull out her attire for the afternoon. What really struck the Sentinel was how vigorous a lover she was - how beautiful she was when her back arched, her breasts thrust up, and her body shook with an orgasm.

The Sentinel knew she was thirty-eight; had two children, fourteen and sixteen; and a husband that seemed to have little use for her anymore. What an idiot he was, thought the Sentinel, watching her move her cam around, checking the lighting in the picture before lying on the bed in front of the keyboard to strike a seductive pose. The gaudy posters of her daughter's bedroom were a sharp contrast to the elegant lover waiting on the bed, dressed in a white camisole that ended at the top of her hips. The smooth skin that went from the camisole to the thigh highs was completely bare; the small line that was her crack was exposed and defiant between her thighs above the lace that lead down to the ankle strap heels. Yes, she was special, but having discovered who her husband was, had been a godsend to the Sentinel. Watching angel_eyez had become more than just a passing whim, it had become a priority.

* * * * *

With her chores done and her life put away for the afternoon, Marge lay on her daughter's bed with the keyboard at hand. Once she'd found 'him', it had seemed the most comfortable place in the house for their 'dates'. If it were just a day of chat - fun and giggles - she would have been downstairs, albeit, dressed to the nines in something just as revealing. But today was a 'date' day, and she wanted to have room to stretch while she probed her body, touched it as no one else knew how to, but him. Even if it were her fingers, to her, they were his.

It had dawned on her one day that she was the only person in the house that didn't have a computer and planned on fixing that this Christmas when she talked her husband into finally giving Vicky the laptop she'd been asking for. And Marge had smiled knowingly when she'd found her daughter's cam tucked away in the back of her closet. Well, it was the safest sex you could have, she'd thought; at least, you couldn't get Aids from it. Besides, she now had a cam to use for special days like today.

"Hi, angel"

And there he was. Her body rushed at the thought of what would happen for the next few hours as they enjoyed each other's minds and bodies.

"Hi, devil"

It had been as if he'd been created for her alone. Even his name, devil_dude, which was a contrast to hers, spoke of hidden pleasures she should stay away from. He'd just appeared out of nowhere one day and swept her off her feet with his quick wit and fast mind. Always interested in her life, but respectful of her space; and always asking about the family and talking at length about his wife, devil _dude had become her lover. What a slut his wife was. How could she possibly screw her boss when she had 'devil' at home, waiting patiently, in their bed. He had opened up to her and only her, telling her his secrets and sharing ideas. Yes, how could she hide her life from such a sweet, sensitive man? It was part of the sharing and giving that he'd taught her. 

"And do I get a picture today like you promised?" angel_eyez asked.

"Shortly, babe; first, let's talk some. By the way, you are ravishing as always."

God, he made her wet. And something inside loved the idea he was black. She'd been shocked the first time he'd turned his cam on for her. He was a little shy; and besides, so he said, men weren't that interesting to look at anyway. But yes, on special days he would turn on his cam for her; he did this only for her. And what a body he had - a cock and balls even bigger than the man in the dark from her first day of discovery; Devil could cum a gallon, and cum again, as she showed and gave him all of her. It was amazing he found her so attractive when her husband only noticed she was alive when he needed a meal or the remote for the TV.




The Sentinel Ch. 06



Marge loved that he was just exactly the kind of stud that her husband would hate; she loved that he was black. When they weren't in a loving mood but more in a mood for passion and raw sex, Marge liked to think of what her husband would think of this black stud, with a cock that made his look like an afterthought, screwing her to the floor. Or better yet, Devil could cum around her lips as she sucked her stud off. Her husband would go ballistic and so what? Who knows who her husband was 'jerking off' with, alone in the study, at night? But then again, who cares. I have devil, and that's all that matters.

Marge had discovered that by leaving her daughter's bedroom door open, she could enjoy her image in the mirror that hung on the back of the door, and this made it so much easier to project the devil's image onto bed with her, his huge black hands on her breasts as his head pressed in between her thighs. Yes, she was ready.

And so, the chat began as Marge moved to a sitting position and pulled her camisole over her head, sitting seductively with the keyboard on her lap. She wanted the devil and wanted him to know it. She had no idea just how much the devil really wanted her.

* * * * *

It hadn't been a surprise when Jan had gently kissed Jack last night after snuggling on the bed beside him. And it hadn't really been much more of a surprise when they'd fallen into each other's arms and made love slowly and tenderly, finding quiet release as the world fell away and it became just the two of them. It had been amazing at the end when they'd lain in each other's arms and sobbed softly for Lisa - the real Lisa. Jack had felt the shackles finally release as he floated in the loving comfort of Jan and reflected on his life.

What had been a surprise had been the gentle words spoken softly this morning as they lie tangled in the sheets, and Jan kissed his ear. "I think I love you, Jack. I'm sorry".

Sliding out of the bed before he could react, she'd retreated to the bathroom to shower. Instead of joining her, he'd lain quietly in bed and wondered what it meant - not just the testament of love or the soft apology, but the loving and giving after so long tormented and alone. What could it bring now after that same feeling had brought so much pain?

'Enjoy, Jackie boy; I know I will.'

He'd gone so far in such a short time and come so much closer in a week than he had in almost two years of anguished searching. Why had he locked himself away and shut the world out - the world that Lisa had so loved and enjoyed, the world she no longer had.

After showers and quiet dressing in the bedroom, where they regarded each other with trepidation, they'd finally settled in the breakfast nook, finding solace in talk of past experiences and current events. They never wandered beyond tomorrow because talk of a future could mean a future together or a future in quiet retreat - something Jack knew all to well and couldn't deal with right now.

His laptop was brought out, and they watched carefully the 25 minutes of 'frames' Jack had captured. The quality, while not as good as the quality of Jan's screen - the original - was very good considering the circumstances. They were silent as they watched the drama unfold and saw Jan's naked body as she moved up to make love to Jack. Nothing was said as they watched her hand reach into his briefs and pull his cock out, letting it slide in slow. Jack shifted slightly in his chair over remains of scrambled eggs as he'd relived the moment his cock had been washed in the wetness of Jan.

Finally, when she moved back to the head of the bed and sat with a pout, staring at the camera, Jan - today's Jan - reached across the table and gently took Jack's hand as they waited for what would come next. His hand tightened around hers almost to the point of hurting when they saw the small grey box that said 'connecting…' come up. The sigh was audible when the picture finally materialized.

They studied the surroundings more than the person. They noted the paint on the walls which seemed to be peeling - a sure sign of an old building with lead-based paint, an old calendar on the wall behind the person, and bookshelves stacked with thick publications of some kind. The lighting seemed to come from above and behind with a yellow glare; probably, a bare light bulb, they'd decided. 

The chair itself appeared to be an old oak barrister's swivel chair with the seat covered in some dark material, probably leather, that appeared to be cracked or torn with the white, fluffy filling sticking out in a few places. An old dingy T.V. tray table, the kind your mother probably had stuffed in the closet for guests or late night snacks, was to the right with a mouse and keyboard on it.

They'd almost missed it, off in a dark corner above the bookshelf, but there seemed to be a bulletin board with papers tacked to it. There really wasn't much else to divine from the images, but they both knew it could be important. It was just too dark and the picture too grainy to give up secrets easily.

When 'cyber' Lisa slipped in the chair, they could see clearly that it was a dark- haired woman of oriental persuasion. Her features were fine and attractive, and she seemed to be lost completely in what was going on. Her eyes were fixed forward and to the right a little as she watched something or someone intently. Several of the frames were blurry as she struggled to recover and move back out of the camera's angle, but a few were quite clear as she looked across her breasts, her hands still working with the jerky motion of an old-time movie as her cam sent a frame across every two or three seconds.

Her lips were full and dark, probably flushed as she made love with her hands, giving herself to someone. Was it them? Supposedly. Was it really? Who knew?

After watching it a few times, Jan got a writing pad and took notes as Jack read off frame numbers from the recording. Opening an editing program, they struggled for a couple of hours trying to focus and brighten things more. The programs they had available just weren't good enough, but Jack knew where to look for help.

He found Lee on-line as expected, and opening chat with him had been easy, even comforting. It brought Jack's quiet cocoon back to life, the hours they'd sat late at night talking about nothing of importance, just a couple of guys keeping each other company.

Jack put it to him as a challenge explaining that he had become 'involved' with a woman in chat, and she was making a game out of finding her. Her challenge had been that if he could figure out where she was, as close as possible, she would come visit Jack. Lee laughed and accused Jack of not playing fair but said sure, anything to get his sorry ass out of that wheelchair of his. Jack sent the selected files, careful to exclude any that had the small picture of Jan in the lower right- hand corner and asked his friend to 'have fun, she's a real looker.'

Finally, they were back in the car, headed for Jan's office; she was curled again under her seatbelt, comfortable with Jack and fiddling with the radio. Moving through traffic, it took a few minutes for Jack to catch it, but there it was. The black van again. The same antenna farm he'd seen before outside the store. Checking the side mirrors, he saw no traffic around them other than the car in front and two behind him with the van following. 

It just didn't seem right. There couldn't be more than one of those things, and the odds of the same person being on the same road, going in the same direction, a day after he'd seen it, at a store five miles away, were very slim.

The car in front slowed, and instead of passing, Jack dutifully slowed as it turned off the road into a parking lot. One of the cars behind Jack pulled out and sped away, while the other car and the van slowed with them.

Still three blocks from Jan's office, Jack decided he needed gasoline and without warning pulled into the next station he found. The van continued to follow the other car. As they went past, Jack, standing in his open door, was unable to make anything out through the polarized windows of the van. He tried to get the plate number, but the van pulled around the slower car, just in time, to block his view. Intentional? Well, it just didn't seem right. Who are you, Jack wondered as he started pumping gas.

* * * * *

The Captain had noticed them all gathered around John's desk early in the morning. It seemed he had something on the screen of his government-issued laptop that was of great interest, and from the snickers and laughs, he guessed it was some porn picture someone had sent in a mail. The office had finally settled, shortly afterward, as phones were answered and reports filled out.

But there it was again, and he was getting pretty tired of it. It must have been more than one picture, and he'd had this problem before with John. Enough was enough. As he stepped to the door, he yelled across the room, "I have no idea what you bunch of pansies are looking at but get back to your desks and get to work. John, I want you and your laptop in here right now".

With that, the party was over. The Captain seemed to escort each one of them back to his or her desk with his eyes and finally settle on John as he carried the laptop towards the office. It was odd, thought the captain, that John's look was more one of defiance than guilt as he settled into the chair in front of the desk.

"What the hell are you up to, John? Open your computer and show me exactly what you were showing them." What a fucking immature idiot. You had to wonder how some of them made it this far. And what really burns is that stupid, defiant smirk. He has no idea. Just as well, that will make all this easier.

"Sure, Captain, I picked this up on the, ah, internet last night. It might be important to Linda's investigation. Not sure why, let's just call it a hunch."

With that, John opened his computer and turned it so the Captain could see. It took a second to realize it was a woman with her legs spread, her fingers digging in as she satisfied herself. "What is this shit, John? What does this have to do with anything? You know damn good and well, this kind of thing..."

"Wait, let me see." Walking around the desk to stand beside the Captain, John reached out with great flare and pressed a key. The figure started moving as the Captain's blood pressure steadily went up.

Reaching for the phone, the Captain started yelling, "John...," only to stop abruptly when the woman slipped, and her face fell into view. It took a beat to be sure, but three frames later, the Captain was certain it was Linda. John jumped when the captain slammed the laptop closed, hard enough to crack the top of the case.

Suddenly displaying exaggerated calm, the Captain invited John back to his seat and waited with a smile as he settled in. This isn't right. What's the Captain up to, thought John. He watched in amazement as the Captain dialed a number and asked for a Ruth. "Yes, Ruth, could you come to my office. Yes, you will...yes, we're going to...John. What's that? Oh, yes, a long time, but I think it's taken care of now."

Turning back to John, the Captain asked if he wanted a cup of coffee while they waited for Ruth. The Captain finally got it, thought John. He'd been right. That sticky-fingered bitch Linda was going to get hers, and then he'd be the Captain's pet. Damn, better than he thought. Shit, he could have the old man's job inside a year, maybe less.

John was lost in celebration when a stern-faced Ruth made her way into the office. When John finally noticed her, the first thing he thought was, 'who is this black bitch.' But this was the office, and he'd learned better so he kept his mouth shut.

"John, this is Ruth Johnson. Ruth, this is our John." Damn straight, it is, Ruth; I am the man, thought John.

"Nice to meet you, John. I'm the head of HR, and I've heard quite a bit about you."

Human Resources, thought John. Damn, the Captain moves fast. I wonder if there'll be more money for the next paycheck. It would be great to upgrade my internet connection. All smiles for the lady even if she is a black bitch, thought John.

"John, we've been very concerned about you for several months now. As you know, we constantly check and monitor our people due to the nature of what we do. We pride ourselves in putting your physical and mental health first..."

What is this shit, thought John. What the hell is she talking about my health for?

"Each time you log on to the office LAN, we scan the hard disk, check for file names and types, and download all your 'cookies'. We've been following a trend, John, that started with you about three months ago. In light of these developments, we feel it in your best personal interest to give you time off with pay until the end of the year. You'll be required to visit the company psychologist three times a week for individual sessions and participate in group sessions twice a week to try and deal with your problem."

John couldn't stand it anymore. Jumping to his feet, he yelled, "What the fuck are you talking about, you fat, black cow!"

The Captain was calm as he said, "John, you still have a chance here. Now sit down, and let Ruth finish. And one thing, that type of language will not be used in my office in the presence of a woman. Got that, buddy boy?"

With a sudden rush of self-preservation, John read the Captain's tone all too well. Sitting back down, he folded his arms over his chest and waited.

"John, that type of aggression is part of what we're talking about. Our goal is to help you, John. Now, you are immediately relieved of duty and should turn any pending cases over to the Captain. You should go home, kick back, and relax. I want to see you here, bright and early, Monday morning at eleven, and I'll introduce you to Patti, your psychologist. For the time being, we are dropping your status from sergeant to caseworker to help remove some of the stress you seem to be under, but your pay will not be affected unless we deem it necessary to take further action or you miss your sessions."

John missed most of it as his head pounded. His hands were tight balls while his nails cut into his palms. His mind wandered to what he could do to this fucking cow if he could just have half an hour alone with her. He'd have her screaming for mercy, just after she begged him for more.

"Is that all?" John asked as if taking an order at a restaurant. 

"Any questions, John?" The Captain was surprised at how calm John was. Maybe he understands just how important this opportunity is.

"No, Captain. And thank you, Ruth...ah.. I'm sorry; I seem to have missed your last name."

"Not at all, John. Ruth Johnson, HR. I'm looking forward to seeing you on Monday, John. Thank you."

Right, John thought. You're going to see me all right. 

* * * * *

Marge was lost completely in devil's body. She felt so good; they had chatted for almost two hours as he'd talked about his wife and how much it hurt. He'd asked about the children and listened patiently as she went on and on about her daughter. Marge told him how she'd discovered the cam in her daughter's closet and was sure she was doing the same thing they were every chance she got. But it was okay, she'd told him, as well as herself; it was safe sex and better than getting knocked up in the backseat of a car. Besides, she, herself, was doing it too and knew that aside from nudity and some good healthy sex, there wasn't a thing in the world to be ashamed of or concerned about. Hell, she thought, if her mother had been more open with her about sex, she might not be stuck where she was today.

The devil had even promised to keep an eye out for Vicky and take 'care' of her if he saw her getting out of hand or into trouble in a chat room. What more could she ask for?

Then they'd talked about her husband. Marge loved how the devil was always very attentive with that topic, knowing where her primary source of grief lied and trying to help her out. She thought it was cute that he would listen to her talk about his work in great detail, trying to help her find a solution to their relationship in his workplace. Nice, she thought, but when you got right down to it, men just didn't get it.

After the chat, he'd asked if she'd like to have a cam. "What an idiot," she wrote back. "I'm dying to be with you". Lying on the bed, stretched out in front of her own cam, she felt the rush as his name came on-line in the cam list, and she clicked to open it. Damn, he is so fine. What a body - his thighs, developed and firm; his stomach flat; and what a cock. Huge. She tried to imagine what it would feel like as it slid in, slowly. Yes, that would be so good, she thought.

Moving her daughter's pillows, she lay back with her head facing the computer screen, looking out over her body, her feet to each side of her picture, and angel watched as devil held his cock and squeezed. Her hands wandered languidly across her breasts as she squeezed a nipple and felt the rush between her thighs. Raising her knees to open herself more, she moved a hand down and tested the waters. Damn, I want him in me. But first...

Sliding first one finger in, and then two, she brought them out and showed them to the cam. Yes, my little devil, they're wet. Then she brought them to her mouth as she imagined sucking his huge cock. God, she thought, she could cum in less than a minute. 

The devil's pace increased as his cock stretched out, and Marge had visions of her husband being forced to sit in a chair and watch as she swallowed the black stallion whole before gulping down his cum. Yes, that would serve him right, she thought.

* * * * *

They had been talking about it off and on all day, and no real decision had been made yet. Jack wanted to get back to his fortress, just for a day or two, but he was having trouble dealing with the idea of leaving Jan alone. She had mentioned keeping in touch by chat but abandoned the idea as soon as she saw Jack's face.

While they had maintained their physical distance most the day, they had opened up more as they talked about their companies and families. Jack had revealed a little while telling tales of Mexico and Juan's family and was surprised to learn Jan spoke Spanish as well. Miami, born and raised, it was actually the first language in the area she grew up in.

Finally, having watched Jack struggle enough, Jan found a moment to step close, putting her hand on his belt to keep him from rushing away. "Jack, take me with you. I can have my mails and calls forwarded, and I'm good for at least a week. Besides, I haven't been on a vacation since Hank died."

The kiss was slow in coming, but it spoke of more than affection, as well as a lot of relief. Jack picked up the phone and called Michelle to request she make reservations for two later in the evening. He could only imagine her reaction as he spelled out Jan's full name.

* * * * *

It wasn't so much that John's car had slammed into the back of Marge's car when he pulled in the drive; it was that he just didn't give a shit. Slamming the car door, he stomped to the front door and almost tore it off the hinges as he burst in looking for liquor and someone to take it all out on.

Going straight to the study, he found a bottle and dropped into his chair; then turning on his desktop, he began drinking straight from the bottle as the machine booted up. With a click to connect and another to get to his favorite public chat room, he could feel it all start to fall away because he knew these people would understand.

Going to one of the wilder rooms, he watched the chat scroll by as he continued to drink and contemplate 'Dear ol' Ruth'. What a bitch. Damn. Hitting his chair arm, he leaned in to see who was on and what was happening. You could generally find out who was 'showing' and who was worth looking at in a few seconds. He could see they were going crazy over someone named angel_eyez and devil_dude. From the chat, he learned that devil was a black stud, and he was nailing his white, cyber-sweetheart to the floor. Seems they had become regulars for the afternoon crowd. Ah, he'd heard about her, always on during the day, so he hadn't caught her yet. 




The Sentinel Ch. 06



Taking another drink, he searched around for her name on the list. There, a click and she was open. Wow, nice, he thought. The cam view was framed by her open legs, knees up, with a very nice view of her fingers as they slid in and came out wet. Damn, she's hot. Where's this black stud, he wondered. I gotta see this guy give it to her deep. Finding the cam, he clicked it open and saw some black asshole with a cock the size of a donkey's. Damn, I would love to see her go down on that. Looking back at her cam, John saw her fingers go in deep, and her hand jerk as she worked to cum. Yes, this fucking nigger's lover is hot. Damn.

* * * * *

Marge wanted to give more as she pulled her fingers out. Swinging her legs to one side, she quickly turned on her stomach, and propped on her elbow. Then looking directly at the cam, she slid her fingers in her mouth to suck them clean, all the time watching devil and wanting him to cum so she could imagine drinking it, eating him.

Yes, John would love this, she thought, sarcastically. She had no idea he actually was.

* * * * *

John brought the bottle down so quickly that bourbon spilled down his chin and onto his tie. What? How could this be; she looked just like Marge? He stared for a minute as angel_eyez sucked her fingers and smiled at the cam. Turning quickly, she presented herself again and started pressing on her clit.

Mouth open, bourbon dripping, John stared at the chat and watched as he confirmed angel and devil were, in fact, the right couple - the 'cyber-sweethearts' that had become so popular for the day crowd - the ones he hadn't had a chance to see yet because he was always at work.

Suddenly, the devil's cock was covered in cum, and John watched as Marge turned over on the bed again to suck and lick her fingers. The room went wild. "Do it, angel, suck him off...Oh yes, angel, you have great tits...Damn, angel, you're the best...Hey, angel, I may be a woman, but forget the clothes; the only thing you need on you is me, babe...Go, devil, make her drink it all...That's right, devil, give it to her deep."

John's mind was foggy, more from anger than from the bourbon he'd consumed. Releasing the bottle and slipping his shoes off, he crept out of the study and up the stairs, careful to skip the two steps he knew creaked when stepped on. Hearing a soft moan from the open door of his daughter's bedroom, he moved quietly along the wall and peeked through the crack between the door and the door frame.

And there was Marge, naked on his daughter's bed except for her lacy, white thigh highs and black spiked-heels, her hands working frantically as her back arched, lifting her ass off the mattress as she came hard.

No longer caring about hiding his presence, John made a sound of disgust and strode to his and Marge's bedroom. Opening the closet door with a jerk, he searched among the jackets and suits, hanging on his side, until he found what he needed. Throwing it on the bed, he reached up and pulled a couple of shoe boxes down in order to find a grey lockbox that contained important paperwork like the kids' college fund that had only six months' worth of savings because there had never seemed to be enough left over after the house payment, car payments, and everything else this cow had saddled him with. 

Walking back to the bed, his eye was caught by an old hatbox sitting open on the mattress. Glancing inside, he found a pair of thigh highs, a garter belt in a very, provocative red, and a matching teddy. With a sweep of his hand, it was banished to a corner of the bedroom. Grabbing an old jacket, he removed his suit jacket and put on the other, being careful that his sleeves were covered. Opening the lockbox, he pulled out a plastic bag and unzipped the top. A heavy object, wrapped in an old rag that smelled of oil, fell into his hand. Wadding up the rag and bag, he put them in a jacket pocket.

In the bathroom he searched briefly under the sink for a bag of rubber gloves used for cleaning. Tearing the packaging, he held the gloves in one hand and slipped the packaging in his pocket with the plastic bag and rag. When he heard Marge start to type again, John stopped his movements and cocked his head, listening, much like the family dog did. Good, he thought. Stepping out of the bathroom with a glance around the bedroom, he left for his daughter's room.

* * * * *

Marge sat on the edge of the bed, her skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat from her lovemaking and a smile that was for devil_dude. Damn, that was good. She even told him she had never cum that hard in her life. Yes, all of her life. If she had only known, how prophetic that statement was; the rest of her life was now only a question of minutes.

There were giggles and snuggles as she felt the devil wrap her in his arms just before his cam went off; he never lingered on cam. What a shame, she thought, as she felt her thighs quiver once again. But Marge did; Marge always stayed on cam as long as possible, letting devil enjoy her naked body.

* * * * *

The Sentinel sat and took in Marge's naked body. Yes, her husband is an idiot - no denying that - especially knowing who he is. Such bright eyes and lovely smile, Marge looked beautiful as always after making love.

The Sentinel watched as Marge wrapped her arms around her chest to send an air hug. Then the Sentinel was taken by Marge's change in expression - so quick, so drastic. The Sentinel watched as it went from startled fright to anger to defiance to absolute terror. Her mouth seemed to move as if talking to someone. Her movements seemed frantic and jerky as if indecisive about what to do next. The bright, sunny shine of her eyes had changed to cutting knives as one of her hands wagged a finger in a direction off camera, like a mother telling a naughty child not to do that ever again.

Then it happened. In the three-second feed of the camera, Marge went from wagging finger, mouth opened wide as she yelled at someone, to tear-streaked cheeks as a gun barrel was thrust down her throat. And then, two frames later, her image was gone from the camera's view, replaced by an ominous grey cloud that was frozen in the air for a few seconds by the cam's slow progression.

The Sentinel could not believe what had transpired. How could it be? That wasn't supposed to happen; the Sentinel had not decided angel_eyez or Marge, her real name, was the chosen one. What the hell happened?

* * * * *

Police dispatch centers all over California were flooded with calls from people as far away as Manchester, England, reporting what appeared to be a shooting; but the only address information in Marge's user profile was the state she resided in. All the calls corroborated each other, giving more or less the same information; a woman, named angel_eyez, seemed to have been shot at an unknown address by an unknown assailant. They were directed where to go and look on the internet, and suddenly, a bunch of officers scrambled for desktops and started looking.

By the time they found the internet address, and someone figured out how to get a user name and password, angel_eyez' cam was turned off. Searching her profile, they could find no clue as to who she really was or where she lived. More or less taking over the site, more officers slowly came on-line and talked to people. The site itself cooperated as much as possible, giving the police access to all password-protected cams and rooms so they could move freely, looking for information.

A phone call was made to the ICB unit to report the incident, thinking it could be a break in the case. Surely, someone over there had been monitoring the chats when the incident took place. There had been a resounding moan, en mass, when it was discovered that the Captain had had all the shift operators in a meeting while he explained upcoming changes and Linda's absence. Even worse was the fact that all the workstations were shut down; no one, at all, had been watching.

As news of the incident spread, it took only half an hour more for the chat site to become overloaded. So its servers finally gave up the fight and shut it down due to excessive traffic.

The evening news broke the story of another 'cam' murder, retelling the same speculations they had made several times before and reviving the details of the previous killings. The only difference was that they knew about the crime before they could find the victim. There was even speculation that there had been no crime and that it had all been an elaborate prank, cooked up by the participants in one of the more popular chat rooms, or possibly, the owners, attempting to boost traffic.

* * * * *

It was after eight in the evening when Vicky finally made it home after picking up her brother at the mall. They both noted, in passing, that Dad seemed to have hit Mom's car. Boy, was she going to have a fit. They found their father, sitting in his study in front of his desk - tie open and shoes off, as drunk as they'd ever seen him. 

Having cleaned up Marge's and his bedroom, John had carefully returned all the boxes, except her hatbox, to the closet. Then he had taken the gloves, jacket, gun, and everything in his pockets down to the basement where he'd worked slowly and unhurriedly to find just the right spot and had carefully pulled out the nails to pry a floorboard away. Putting everything in a black garbage bag, he'd stuffed it in, and just as carefully, put the board back in place, taking care not to make any fresh scratches or dents on the unfinished wood. 

He had then found the vacuum in the hall closet and carefully erased any trace of his excursion up the stairs and into the bedrooms. He'd checked the bathroom, and then returned Marge's hatbox of 'goodies' where he'd found it on the bed. Retreating down the stairs, he'd stored the vacuum in its place, just as Marge would have left it, and checked the downstairs to see exactly where his tracks would lead if anyone were smart enough to wonder. Finally, he'd returned to his study where he had sat quietly, legs stretched out in front of him and slowly drank himself to the perfect alibi.

He had come home so distraught and upset, due to the non-justifiable suspension he'd been served up at work, that he'd sped into the drive and hit his wife's car. In a rage, he'd stomped up the sidewalk, thrown the door open, and gone into his study for a bottle. I mean, who could blame him? He'd sat there in the quiet house since his arrival, slowly, trying to forget what was happening to his career of nine years in police enforcement. No, he had no idea his wife was lying dead upstairs. Yes, he knew the site she visited; he had even visited it himself. They could check his computer to confirm that. The last time, he was logged onto that site was last night, and it had been work-related. If they wanted to know what he was doing, they should ask his Captain, or should he say ex-Captain. No, he had no idea what she was doing there, but from what they'd already learned, she seemed to have had a 'cyber-lover'. Maybe, they should go ask him. Yes, he'd be glad to cooperate; he was not the monster his asshole of a Captain made him out to be. 

He had taken his time. Carefully erasing all signs that his computer had been to the site today, he had removed all cookies and changed his internet options to always remove them when shut down. He'd even gone to the trouble of entering the bio's configuration to change the time and date so any changes he'd made would appear to come from the previous night. Then, shutting down the system, he'd entered once again to reset the correct date and time and exited immediately.

Yes, John had it all planned out and pulled it off flawlessly from the moment of his daughter's first scream. Later that night with the yellow crime scene tape in view, John had stood, surrounded by his grief-strickened children, on the front stoop of their house, and tentatively answered questions from the press while uniformed officers moved past him to enter his home. How sad it was that he had more or less been fired on the same day his wife - who had apparently had been cheating on him - had become the latest victim of the cyber-serial killer. No, he hated to admit it, but considering Ruth Johnson, ICD's HR person, was black, maybe, the problems at work were racially motivated and could be worked out before a lawsuit was required. Then Marge had made an impromptu appearance, dressed head-to-toe in a black body bag, on her way to the coroner's van, and the heart of a nation went out to the poor father on the stoop of his suburban home, children at his side as a single tear was picked up in the glare of the floodlights. 

Yes, John thought as his eye watered from the glare of the TV camera lights, just maybe, a lawsuit can be avoided.



The Sentinel Ch. 07



Dave Little had spent a lifetime trying to live down his name, and it had not been one of his stellar performances. He was the son of a south Miami stripper, and was certain that one of mom's frequent male visitors was his father. He had learned young that the only thing a father figure had to offer was a slap on the side of the head and a liquor-soaked bark, telling him to 'get outta here kid, can't ya' see I'm busy with your mommy?'

By the age of eight, he'd taken their word for it and found the streets a much safer place to find comfort and a feeling of being wanted.

At 10 he'd rallied a band of ragtag kids, all at least two years younger than himself, because he'd learned what it felt like to have someone look up to you - need you. They had spent their days roaming the neighborhood, finding bottles to return and cans to recycle so they could put together enough money to buy firecrackers to torment the neighborhood pets.

On his 14th birthday, his mother had taken enough notice to find something special to give him from the dwindling tips she continued to earn at the 'club' as she called it. His crew of followers had remained faithful over the years, and they all watched wide-eyed as Dave turned on his first computer.

Sixteen became a red letter year for Dave and his mother. It was the year he'd learned how to pirate the high school internet connection and get on-line time whenever he wanted which brought him the World Wide Web of porn. For his mother, she learned that she just didn't have the body for dancing anymore - something she'd known for the last four years as tips dwindled at the same rate as 'date' offers from the clientele. This had led to a waitress position as she was 'put out to pasture'. At the age of 35, she looked like a hardened, angry woman pushing 50.

The internet had fascinated Dave and his friends as he sat at the keyboard, mouse in hand, explaining how difficult and technical it all was. He took his band of followers places they would never have gone otherwise. It didn't take long for him to learn that his band of buddies would actually pay for him to show them what they wanted to see. Thus, Dave's bedroom became the local 'cyber-café', and he became the proud owner of a second, faster, and better machine.

It was halfway through that year that Dave learned a very important life lesson. He had become quite the 'chatter' and spent as much time as possible talking to his 'chat buddies' - one of which actually became the father figure he'd always hoped for. What really appealed to him was how his special friend took an interest in all he did, like what sites he visited, and even taught him how to get into the 'special sites' that required an adult ID. His friend wasn't judgmental or accusing; he understood that Dave was much more mature than his years - a young man capable of making his own decisions and taking care of himself.

Then, one week in August, his special friend had listened to him go on about his mother - about the lack of food in the refrigerator, the dirty dishes in the sink, and the garbage piled on the back porch - and he'd made an offer that was hard to refuse.

Dave had looked at the occasional electronic photos his friend had sent of his beachfront house, his Mercedes, and a 24-foot speedboat. He'd seen pictures of his special friend with other 'nice young men' that he had met on the internet and who came to his house on a regular basis to visit. Now, it was Dave's turn - the offer of a lifetime - an opportunity to come and hang out with his special friend and a few of the other 'nice young men' that would be staying for the weekend. There would be food in the fridge and access to the latest in computer technology.

He'd spent the better part of the week, bragging to his friends and showing off the pictures, explaining that this weekend he'd be riding around in the speedboat with his special friend. He said he'd be sure to bring them pictures; his special friend had promised to take plenty and give him copies.

His special friend needn't have bothered with careful instructions on not letting his mother know what he was doing; she spent most her time with her own 'special friends' or at the club. He'd left a note on the refrigerator door saying he was staying over at Tommy's this weekend and swore Tommy to secrecy or 'no more computer access'.

Throwing shorts, swimsuit and some t-shirts into his backpack, he'd followed his special friend's instructions to the letter. Taking a city bus to the bus station, he entered one end and went out the other to the pick-up area where people arriving, caught a cab or met a relative who was coming by car to whisk them away. And there he was - his special friend in his silver Mercedes, waiting as promised. 

His special friend was older - much older actually - than he looked in his pictures. Dave guessed he was somewhere over 40, tanned and healthy-looking. He'd explained that he owned a construction company that built all the public schools in the state.

******

All of Dave's buddies had thought it odd that he didn't want to talk about his trip or that he wouldn't share any of the details with them. They'd thought it odder still that he no longer let them 'buy' internet time at his house, and eventually, they stopped hanging around - nothing to do. Besides, Mark had a computer by then, and it was even better and faster.

He stopped surfing and gave up chatting completely. Most of his time was spent shut up in his room, working out, because he knew being strong - building up his body would let him fight it off next time. He knew the next man that laid a hand on him would also have to pay.

By the time Dave was 18 and a senior in high school, the anger and uncertainty had built, grown and festered to the point that proving his manhood had become something more than the normal teenage quest - it had become a mission.

Then there was Becky. Becky was a cheerleader. She was also the 'friendliest' girl in school. Dave could tell because all the guys smiled at her, stopped at her locker, and offered to carry her books around. Then one day in the hall, she'd stopped him to see if he would like to come by after school; her parents wouldn't be there and she hated to be alone at the house. What could he say, but yes.

When she'd met him at the front door in a robe, Dave began to sweat a little, and when she invited him for a swim in their pool, he began to get nervous. When she dropped her robe at the edge of the pool and stood naked long enough for him to get a good look, he thought he would faint or pass out on the spot. 

Diving in with a giggle, she floated at the edge of the pool and looked up to say, "It's your body. You have a great body. Get it out where I can see it."

Stripping down to his underwear, he'd hesitated under the scrutiny of Becky's gaze before turning to push them down around his ankles and jumping in so she couldn't get a good look.

"Come on, I want to see it all. Here, I'll let you see all of me," and with that, Becky hooked a foot on the edge of the pool and climbed out to pose for him. Yes, she showed him all, from head to foot - nothing shy at all about Becky. "Now, it's your turn. Come on; show it to me."

Dave treaded water and looked at her naked body as it dripped on the concrete apron of the pool. He could feel his cock hard, sticking out in the water, and she looked so inviting. Yes, he could finally do it, he thought; he would get to prove his manhood. Choosing to climb out on the ladder, he swam slowly, never taking his eyes off Becky's body, the small tuft of dark hair at the top of her thighs moving up and down with each step as she followed him along the side of the pool.

She stood at the top of the ladder, blocking any escape and finally scolding with "Hey, come on, get out here; you owe me."

She had no way of knowing; she couldn't have guessed that one thing Dave would never do the rest of his life was 'pay back' for something he owed. 

His reaction was slight, a narrowing of his gaze, a subtle tensing of his body as he climbed up the ladder and Becky said, "That's more like it."

Standing in front of her, his body dripping, her gaze moved down his broad chest to his flat stomach and stopped at his now limp cock. She didn't stifle the laugh, and when he shoved her, she got mad. When he stepped closer, being physically much bigger than she was, it scared her, and she lashed out. "That's it? That's as big as it is?" Her derisive laughter was stifled by a blow to her stomach, and she doubled over on the pool apron in pain.

Scooting away on the concrete as best she could, she made the mistake of ridiculing him again. "Hell, you can't even get it up; I bet you like boys, you faggot."

It was midnight before the police showed up at his house. His mother was gone - at the club, and Dave sat alone in his room with a tense, determined look on his face - not hiding, just waiting.

They'd been surprised to find him so submissive after Becky's description of the monster that beat her up, leaving her unconscious and naked by the pool. 

Even though it was a lie, he hadn't disputed her description of the events. He'd asked her to help him with his homework, and once he'd seen the pool, he'd insisted they go swimming even though her parents didn't allow her to swim with boys at the house when they weren't there. He'd threatened her when she wouldn't swim naked with him, and then, he'd wanted more, but she wouldn't give in. She'd fought him off as best she could and left the scratch marks on his face to prove it.

And there he was, sitting in his bedroom, scratch marks and all. They'd checked thoroughly, determining there had been no penetration or ejaculation, thanks to Becky's hard won fight. So, it had been put down as a case of assault and battery, and he'd been remanded to the state reformatory for a small visit where he'd learned another life lesson - sometimes, it's worth paying to get protection no matter what the price.

On his release, having finished high school or at least gotten his GED, Dave found his mother had moved and left a couple of boxes of things with the neighbor - clothes that no longer fit and two computers that were completely outdated. He left them and said 'thanks' before setting out with less than a hundred dollars in his pocket, looking for a job.

Stopping in at the club his mother had worked at; he discovered she'd moved on six months ago. The owner sized him up and offered a job cleaning the bar glasses during the day and as a bouncer at night. It was in that same club two years later he'd run into Hank who was out for a night on the town with some investors who were financing a company he was starting. Dave had learned it wasn't only the females in the place that could get a tip. By picking out the high rollers and just dropping in to check on them to see if any of the women interested them, he could usually get a handshake stuffed with a fifty at the end of the night. So he made sure the high rollers at table five were taken care of personally.

Hank had noticed and stuffed a hundred in Dave's palm, followed by more of the same on a few return visits over the course of the next year. Then one night, while in the club with the same group of investors he'd first come in with, he made an offer Dave liked. "I'm starting a company and need security. I can't pay much right now; but if it pays off, you could be rich inside a couple of years. If it doesn't pay off, the company will close, and everyone will go their own way."

He'd heard about these things, these dot-com companies, and he knew that not many made it, but the ones that did paid off nicely. Sure, he would do it and was surprised when Hank made him the head of security, giving him a laptop to do scheduling and small office that used to be a coatroom.

It was on that same laptop that he had found them late one night, chatting in a public room. He didn't recognize the names or understand who they were from what was said, but he recognized Jan immediately when he opened her cam. He couldn't believe it and opening the cam of the person she was talking to, he recognized Hank. They seemed to be chatting in one of the tamer rooms, actually making mention of the company, and in a way, promoting its use. But, what stuck with Dave was how beautiful Jan was, fully dressed, sitting at some desk, somewhere, probably upstairs. Her presence on cam and his private office started his infatuation with his boss's girlfriend.

Since then, he'd seen much more of Jan on cam and enjoyed her smiles and greetings when she came in, after one of her 'special' nights, always feeling as if she were sharing a special secret with him - one that it was time to end. Resolve set in, and he decided it was time to take action, to close the circle, and get the cam out of the way.

Sure, he thought to himself, he could fly to New York, invite her out to dinner or something, and lay it all out. Hell, he had money, and besides, he'd helped build this place; he was entitled. Opening his laptop, he checked the schedule and moved a few people around to cover his vacation time. A few phone calls later, he was all set.



The Sentinel Ch. 08



It had been an uneventful flight; Jan had slept against Jack's shoulder most the way. After gathering their bags, Jan had wondered what Jack was doing when he'd stepped out onto the curb, pulled out a keychain, and pressed a button on what looked like an oversized car alarm beeper. There had been little talk on the plane as she'd finally succumbed to sleep, but now he was talking about where he lived and fussing over a refrigerator that might or might not be empty. After about 10 minutes, she noticed him watching a van as it pulled to the curb, and she suddenly realized, it had arrived for them. Just as quickly, she realized there was no driver.

With the press of a button, the side door opened and the passenger door unlocked, Holding it open, Jack invited her to slide in. There was a small hesitation as she scanned the driver side and confirmed there was, in fact, no driver as the van sat there idling - lights on, blinkers flashing, heater working and warming nicely with music coming from the stereo.

Jack closed her door and put their bags in the side door before it closed with a solid click by itself. Walking around, he slid into the driver's seat and was met by a face of amazement as Jan watched him push a few buttons, take the controls and drive off. Making his way out of the airport, he explained some of the special 'features' of the van. Then pointing to a sticker on the windshield, he further explained that it was an annual pass to all city and county parking places, and it contained a barcode that was readable by many public lots or parking lot attendants, when needed, allowing the van to enter and exit parking garages without the assistance of a driver.

"We need to find a store open. I have to buy something."

"Kind of late, don't you think, Jack; it's almost two in the morning. What do you need that's so important?"

Just then, he saw one of the large retail chain stores with their lights on and a smattering of cars close to the entrance, and he eased off the freeway into the parking lot. "Probably take me 15 minutes if they have what I need. You want to come along?"

"Sure."

Jan followed Jack in and watched him search out the manager to ask about something. A minute later, they were standing in a section dedicated to the handicapped, and Jack had picked out a normal-looking, green, vinyl-covered wheelchair. Having paid in cash, they headed back to the van, and Jan watched as Jack opened the side door and pushed another button, causing a lift to come down. Sitting in the wheelchair, he wheeled onto the lift and pushed another button; this time, the driver's seat folded away, allowing him to move in behind the steering wheel.

The simple act of sitting in the wheelchair had transformed Jack. Jan noticed his legs rested relaxed with no movement at all as he moved around, preparing to drive from the perspective of a paraplegic. Was this really the same man that had held her in his arms, opening her legs with his, as they made love in her bedroom the previous evening?

His voice brought her back. "There's not much traffic; let's see what this thing will do." With that, he touched a computer screen which was set into the dash and worked his way through the menu until he pushed a bright, yellow square labeled 'Take me home'. Immediately, the van slipped into gear, released the brake, and headed out the parking lot with no assistance from its driver. Jack seemed vigilant but not worried as the steering wheel moved by itself. As they pulled up to a stoplight, the van stopped, obediently, and the left turn signal began blinking, indicating they would be making a left turn as soon as the light changed.

It took about 10 minutes plus the sound of Jack's voice before Jan could relax completely in the van. But finally, she stopped watching the steering wheel and road in front and quit wondering when they would swerve into a guardrail or the back of a semi.

After about 45 minutes, they came to a road that left the main state highway, and they turned off to the right. Stone pillars stood on each side, and a black iron gate swung open as the van neared. 

As they traveled down a winding, two lane road with no markings, Jack pointed out small white reflectors in the grass that guided the van and allowed it to continue to use its steering system. A building - well-lit but not excessively, plainly built but substantial - loomed ahead as the van drove around a circular drive and stopped at a swing gate entrance to an underground garage. Jack hit an icon on the screen, and the van sat there, without moving, while Jack lowered the window. 

"Hi, Mr. Pond, we heard you'd be back sometime this morning." A security guard walked over from his booth and smiled at Jan as Jack asked how things were. After a brief exchange of pleasantries with the support crew but no mention of his guest, they were off. 

Pushing another button, they moved into a well-lit, underground parking garage where the van pulled up to the curb of an off-loading area and opened the side door again.

"Jan, the building is full of security cameras until we're inside my apartment; so for the moment, I would ask that you help me with the bags and smile for the cameras." Leaning over, Jack kissed her on the cheek before maneuvering his wheelchair back onto the lift platform to be lowered to the concrete. Jan grabbed the bags and followed Jack to the elevator as the van closed its doors and drove off. 

Arriving at the penthouse, the elevator doors opened, and Jack withdrew his key. Rolling out into a small foyer, he turned to Jan, and she followed his glance up to the right, noticing the camera. "Smile," Jack said. "It will make them wonder what we did on the ride up, even though they already have a tape of us."

Glancing around, Jan could see that the view out the windows beside the elevator was breathtaking with the skyline of Manhattan on one side and lush forest giving way to water on the other. Opening the door to his apartment, Jack rolled aside to invite her in, and then rolled around again to shut the door, locking it before standing. "There, now I can walk again."

"They can't see us now?" Jan asked as she glanced around.

"Not unless someone installed new equipment while I was out."

The release was clearly visible as she exhaled and moved to the couch to set her purse down. Walking over, Jack embraced her tenderly and kissed her once more before whispering, "I'm glad you came."

Neither one of them had noticed the black antenna farm on wheels as it had pulled to the side of the road about 100 yards from the turnoff, just as they had turned into Jack's lane.

*****

Jack awoke to the ringing of the telephone. Glancing around the room in the early morning light, he looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:30 in the morning. He could feel the disorientation of traveling without enough sleep as he answered the phone and said, "Hello." He was back in his fortress. The fireplace was cold, and he suddenly wondered if it had all been a dream - if maybe Jan existed only in his mind. 

"Jack, pinché pandejo, how was your trip?" Juan's voice boomed over the phone, and Jack felt reassured that he must have gone somewhere after all.

"Good, Juan." The smell of bacon, frying, also hinted that maybe it wasn't a dream. Looking around, he found clothes strewn on the floor and saw Jan's bag open by the bathroom door. "It was good, Juan, great actually. What's up?"

"Good to have you back, Jack. I wanted to know if we could get together later in the morning. Sorry for the early call, but I'm off to meet with our friends and see what I can negotiate."

"Sure, Juan. What time do you finish up with your meeting?"

"Around 11. How about lunch?"

"Sounds like a plan. Come on over; I seem to have food in the fridge so maybe I can whip you up a pizza or something." There was a small chuckle as Jack waited for Juan's response to such an insult. 

"Pinché cabrón. If you look in that fridge of yours, you'll find some very fine Mexican cuts. Among them is arrachera I had brought in from Monterrey just for us. You think you can still cook or should I send a Mexican pinché over?"

"Sure. Hope there's enough for three though. Catch you later." With that, Jack hung up and left Juan to figure it out on his own.

He found Jan in the kitchen, wearing a white t-shirt and little else, as she tended eggs frying in a pan; he walked over and circled her waist with his arm before leaning in to kiss the back of her neck. Her response was relaxed as she leaned back into his body, balancing an egg on her spatula to move it to a plate.

"About time you crawled out of bed. You must have had at least four hours sleep."

"I wanted to be sure room service had breakfast ready first," Jack responded in a playful voice.

"At your service," Jan replied as she unwound from his arm and carried two plates to the dining nook off the kitchen.

"Let's talk game plan. What do you need to do as far as your office is concerned?" Jack asked as he started eating.

"A phone call and check my mail. Since this coming Thursday is Thanksgiving, the office will be quiet until Friday when the workload should more than triple as Christmas shopping starts. But I'm all set; I should be fine until Monday of next week. What are your plans?"

Jack, having lived an almost solitary existence for the last couple of years, was caught off guard by the announcement of Thanksgiving only days away.

"Well, I have a meeting with Juan at noon, lunch here, and I'd like you to meet him. I probably need to get involved in a business deal he's working on, and then we can sit down and try to work out what to do next about Lisa's killer."

Taking a sip of coffee, Jan made a suggestion to Jack. "I haven't been to New York in quite awhile. How about I go into town, do some shopping, and then meet you and Juan back here for lunch?"

Torn by a desire to keep her safe and at the same time recognizing that she was an adult, his response was slow in coming but firm. "Okay, how about I have a car come over and pick you up? That way, I can be sure you'll be back in time for lunch."

"Okay, Jack. Thanks."

They washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen together; then Jan headed off to shower and get ready while Jack called Michelle to have a car sent over and to see what was new at the office. The current buzz around the office concerned Juan's meeting today. It all looked good, and Michelle wanted to know, "Is it really true you'll be back in your office on the 2nd, Mr. Pond?"

"Yes, Michelle. That's the plan."

Jack left Michelle giggling as he hung up and headed for his computer room. Stepping through the second door, he was struck by a feeling of change. The monitors were dark and cold with no ventilation fans running. Being met with a chilling silence, he finally abandoned his post at the sliding glass door, leaving it open slightly as if a quick retreat might be needed, and walked around turning things on. It was as if his foray into the real world had dampened his resolve which only brought him guilt.

Moving from machine to machine, he wondered what his life would be like today if Lisa were alive and felt a little guilty as he wondered if Jan would be a part of it as well. Startled by the sound of the door sliding in its track, he turned to find Jan silhouetted in the morning light as she stood taking in the room and possibly considering what it could mean.

"Jan, come in. Welcome to my world," Jack invited with a little more flourish than was called for.

"I looked for you around the apartment," Jan responded as she walked to his side. "I finally looked out on the balcony and saw the door open. I just..." 

"It's okay, Jan. Welcome to the Jack Pond war room where I've spent more than a year and a half looking for Lisa's killer." His voice was full of false bravado as he stood, inviting her to sit in his wheelchair.

Refusing, Jan walked slowly from computer monitor to computer monitor, tentatively touching each one, as her eyes noted the keyboards and other high tech paraphernalia that had kept Jack mired in the 'black hole' that was Lisa's death. Finally, she stopped to stand in front of him, her eyes searching as her hands rested gently on his hips.

"I'm sorry, Jack. When you explained it all to me, I just didn't get it. I just didn't understand how…" pausing, as she searched for the word, "…real and consuming it's all been for you." Giving him a light kiss on the lips, she stepped back to lean on a table and wait.

Jack was torn between an apologetic explanation and an outrage at her reference to 'real'. What did she expect it to be? Lisa is gone, and that's very real. He was - no is, he thought, as if reaffirming his conviction to find the killer, very serious about finding some measure of satisfaction in...and just as quickly, he thought...what? Satisfaction in what?

"Jack, the car will be here shortly." Taking his hand, she led him out into the chill of the balcony before leading him into the warmth of the apartment. "It's okay. I was wrong to put it that way; it just surprised me." Thinking it best not to discuss 'cyber' Lisa's morning mail, she offered a gentle hug and picked up her coat and purse.

"Jan, in a sense you're right. Maybe it did become a little too real for me, but it's still not over. I have to find whoever was behind her death."

"And I'll help, Jack; count on it."

The chime of the service phone let them know the car had arrived and at the same time, saved them from a conversation that might best be left for another time.

*****

Linda felt no remorse for her actions. The call, from the Captain, three mornings after storming out of his office didn't surprise her, but the topic did. Yes, she'd heard the news about John's wife, and no, she didn't want to come back into the office.

"Look, I quit. I told you that several times, and it hasn't changed. I didn't give you a memo because you practically had me thrown out of the building, but I can take care of that today."

The captain was patient and responded gently but with a posture that left no doubt. "I do not and will not accept your resignation until the first of the year; at which time we will sit down and discuss your situation. I just thought with the most recent killing you might want to come in and make sure your people are on track."

"My people are good. If anything can be found, they know how to find it. I'll be in on the 2nd to resign. You might talk to Tom and see if he has any recommendations for my replacement."

There were no goodbyes or other normal pleasantries of good phone etiquette, just the sound of a dial tone in her ear as the captain hung up in frustration. But it changed nothing. She had resolved to make contact and was going to carry through with it.

Discovering how to get in touch with Jan hadn't been a problem; she had a profile sheet that listed her company phone numbers. A phone call later had had Linda searching the airlines' passenger lists and discovering that Jan had flown to New York with Jack Pond sitting in the seat beside her - tickets paid for by his company. Jack Pond was definitely an unusual traveling companion and therefore, all the more reason to investigate. She still wondered who the guy on cam had been the other night, and if Jack had arrived later, to sit in the corner in his wheelchair, taking it all in. It really didn't matter; eight hours and a plane flight later, she was checking into the Omni in downtown Manhattan.

Stepping out of her hotel on 46th, wrapped in a winter coat and scarf to ward off the biting downtown wind of New York, she headed for Pond Enterprises on 52nd. She wanted to get there early and see if she could get a glimpse of Jack, arriving in a car or going into the building.

Fortunately, a small coffee shop, in the lobby of the building that the Pond offices were located, provided a perfect vantage point. Linda enjoyed a full view of the street as well as the security point where employees and visitors checked in before taking an elevator to their floor.

She settled in with cappuccino and a bagel to see who turned up, and she contemplated what the hell John could be up to because she knew the cyber-killer hadn't killed Marge.

*****

Jan loved to visit New York, and as she walked along 6th Avenue, looking in the shop windows, she wondered how she could have been so judgmental of Jack. Had she not done exactly the same thing when Hank had died - getting lost in her work at the office and in a cyber-relationship? Was she not just as guilty of hiding from the world and parking her life in a warm comfortable spot to let routine take over?

Carrying shopping bags with gifts for her parents and a few of the people at work, she just couldn't decide what to buy for a man that has or can have anything. While her own empire was sizable, it still had a way to go before reaching the magnitude of Pond Enterprises, and, come what may, she planned on leaving a Christmas gift. Who knew, with any luck, maybe they'd be sharing Christmas; maybe Lisa, even from her grave, was reaching out and giving them both the gift of finding each other.

Several blocks of window browsing and a few shops later, she gave up and headed for Jack's office. The driver had told her to come to reception and ask for Michelle when she was ready to go back to Mr. Pond's place.

*****

After three cappuccinos and a complete reading of two of the dailies, Linda was about to give up and try a more direct approach, such as calling on Mr. Pond at his residence. Then fate had smiled and in walked Jan. There was no doubt. She had been on Linda's screen too many times to be wrong. And she was much more beautiful in person than on a computer screen.

Linda watched as Jan walked to the security check point and talked briefly with one of the guards; then she turned and walked straight to the coffee shop. Grabbing one of the newspapers strewn on the booth beside her, Linda pretended interest in a front page while Jan wandered through the early lunch crowd to sit two booths away, looking directly at her.

With her coat and scarf hanging from a coat rack between the booths, Jan talked to the waitress briefly and then started searching in her purse for something, leaving Linda a chance to openly admire her face. 

Suddenly, overcome with guilt at her open voyeurism, she turned back to the paper and contemplated the weather forecast as carefully as possible, considering it was a one-inch blurb with a minimum of information.

Becoming aware of a man, standing at the end of Jan's table, she watched as they exchanged pleasantries before he helped Jan into her coat and scarf to leave. Leaving five dollars on the table, he bent to retrieve her packages and stepped back so Jan could lead the way. 

Watching casually, almost openly, as if caught up in people watching, she missed the double take Jan made as she passed her table. And then she was gone.

Signaling the waitress to pay her bill, Linda wondered exactly what she'd learned other than just how beautiful Jan was.

*****

"So, you are Jack's mystery guest. How nice. And how is our boy?"

Michelle had said Mr. Martin would be sharing a ride to Mr. Pond's if that would be okay with Jan. After being given a brief description of him, Jan had indicated she would wait in the coffee shop.

Although warm and comfortable in the back of a limousine with Juan, Jan still couldn't shake the sudden terror she had felt at seeing someone that looked just like 'cyber' Lisa, sitting two booths from her own. She really couldn't be sure, but even with the poor camera angle and grainy quality, the resemblance was there. And she seemed to watch me as I left with Juan, she thought.




The Sentinel Ch. 08



"Jack is fine. Maybe a little tired from the trip but fine."

"Oh," said Juan, a little too inquisitively. "And did he have any trouble with his wheelchair on the flight? I've always wondered how they do that."

Damn. Does Juan know Jack can walk? He had said no one knew so she took the safe route. "None at all. I was there to help, and he seems to be pretty good at getting around on his own."

"That's our Jack, a rather independent type."

The conversation turned to Juan's family and how he and Jack had come to know one another. Juan reiterated what Jack had said with an added declaration of admiration and devotion that spoke of a long, close friendship that went far beyond the office or board room.

As their driver picked his way through midday, midtown traffic, Jan responded and listened attentively to Juan while another part of her kept inspecting the picture she'd captured in her mind of the 'cyber' Lisa's look-alike. How could it be?

*****

Linda pulled her laptop out and set it on a writing desk, provided in her room. Logging into the ICB LAN at the office, she avoided her mail, not wanting to see anything the captain might have sent in an effort to find and persuade her. Instead she logged into her personal workstation for information inquiry and review of all the victims and their relatives.

After a brief search, she found Jack's file which provided full information on his company. Selecting the pages she wanted, they were saved to her desktop for printing later in the business center, offered by the hotel.

Making note of some of the information, she proceeded to find Pond's site on the web and browse its pages to see if anything of importance could be found. The only news of note seemed to be 'current plans for expansion'. Deciding there wasn't much she could use, she unplugged her laptop and headed down to print the things she wanted.

What are you up to, Mr. Pond? Linda wondered as she grabbed her room pass card and headed downstairs.

*****

Although Jack knew that Juan had figured out his secret, the look of surprise when he opened the door to let them in was genuine. Juan even looked a little damp-eyed as he stepped forward with the traditional Mexican greeting, reserved for someone you haven't seen in some time or just to reinforce or celebrate a moment - a bear hug and firm pat on the back. Then Juan stepped back to look Jack over from head to toe.

With a crooked smile on his face, Juan avoided the obvious as he commented, "Damn, Jack, I think you've lost some weight. Off to Miami for a couple of days and you come back a changed man."

"Si como no cabron. Let's eat. Lots to talk about." Jack led them to the nook off the kitchen where the first hour of conversation was dedicated to a close interrogation of when and how he had started walking again.

Finally turning to the business at hand, Juan gave a status report on the current negotiations with the 'Big Two' as they had come to be known while Jan picked up dishes and worked on clearing the meal. "Progressing nicely, Jack. They're both still at the table and seem to be entertaining the idea of working together with us. Dollars and percentages have been negotiated; concepts agreed to regarding trademarks and placement; and division of responsibilities outlined; the only thing we're waiting on now seems to be board decisions from both companies."

"Great, Juan. And how bad are we getting screwed?" Jack asked as he sipped some tequila.

"Ah, pinché gringos; always crying about something. We aren't, Jack. Actually, it's a deal that works for everyone. Together, the three of us could button up the market completely, even at a local level, in each country we serve."

It was sobering to think that the small family business his father had started in this very building was not only global but now, on equal footing with the big boys.

Retiring to the living room, the three of them sat around enjoying the moment as tequila disappeared, and Juan sat grinning like a school kid at his friend while he walked around the room, expounding on everything and nothing.

"Time for me to go, Jack; some of us do still have to work." Turning to Jan with a searching look, he finally stated sincerely, "I am very glad to meet you, Jan. I have no idea what you did, but today, I have my friend back. Thank you." 

Turning to Jack, he continued, "And you, cabrón, que Te vías mucha a la chingada. How is it that you've been walking around for more than a year and didn't tell me? Pinché gringo loco."

After seeing Juan to the elevator, Jack returned to find Jan staring out the window as if distracted or concerned.

"What's up?" he inquired as he sat on the couch, a few feet away, taking up his last tequila and downing it in the traditional Hidalgo - the Mexican version of chugging.

"I think I saw 'cyber' Lisa today."

"On cam when you checked your mail?" Jack inquired with interest.

Distraught, she explained, using slow, concise diction as if talking to a six-year-old. "No, in a coffee shop on the ground floor of your building. I was waiting for Juan to come down so we could leave together." 

He had expected many things, but a 'cyber' Lisa sighting wasn't one of them. "But how do you know? I'm not sure I would recognize her if I ran into her tomorrow."

"I can't be sure, and maybe, it's a woman thing. Maybe, I'll be able to put the composite together better from the information we have. But one thing is certain. She saw me and watched me closely as I got into the car with Juan."

Standing, he started to pace slowly in front of the window, occasionally looking out across the expanse of water at nothing in particular.

"Did you get mail today from Lisa?" he asked as he turned again to study the river.

"Yes, I did. The usual stuff, mailed early this morning. There was a comment about you... well, us, but nothing unusual."

"Have you told her where you are yet or that you're out of town?"

"I told her I was going on a business trip yesterday but gave no details. What do you think I should tell her?" Jan asked as she stood to clear the tequila bottle and glasses.

Following her to the kitchen, he sat at the counter and watched as she washed glasses and finished the drudgery of domestic life that for some reason didn't appear to be drudgery when she did it.

"Tell her you're in New York, staying at the house of a friend or relative that's out of town on a trip. You can do it tonight in chat. If there's any mention of me, tell her you abandoned me in Miami. I want to see if she asks for more specifics." Jack wondered what to do if she did.



The Sentinel Ch. 09



John sat in his study at his computer and poured himself another drink. Yes, a moment for celebration if there ever was one. He'd very neatly removed Marge from his life and talked to a lawyer that had assured him they could sue the bureau for 'undue stress', leaving him with a nice settlement and early full retirement. On top of that, the insurance company had already been in touch, and a check would be in the mail as soon as their investigation was complete.

Pouring another drink, John leaned back and watched the words of sympathy roll across the chat box. Yes, they were all a bunch of idiots, too, but it was amazing how they 'reached out' to support one of their own. That didn't change the fact they had been getting off on his wife fucking the black stallion every week, but then, who knew?

Devil_dude's user name and password had rendered nothing, except very skimpy information that said he resided in the United States and connected through a 56k dial-up connection during the day. 

As he picked up his drink and wandered to the basement door, John thought, this is the way life should be - a quiet house with kids gone, who knew where, and who really cared and early retirement as soon as the lawyer gets done with the bureau and gets my money - well, as soon as the 'investigation' is over. Yes, life will be good he thought once all the pieces fall into place. He had to laugh when he realized he owed everything to Linda and her sticky little fingers. Yep, another slut comes through; don't they always?

Going down the stairs and over to the corner where he'd stashed the evidence of his involvement, he stood and looked, scrutinizing the nail heads and how it all looked. But, he could find no difference between the floor joists at either end of the basement when compared to all the rest.

Back upstairs, he sat in front of the computer again and decided it was time to try and make some real contact - something other than electronic bits and bytes. He knew some people did it - met in chat and got together in person - why shouldn't he?

Focusing a little more on the chat, he looked around to see what was happening - who was hot and who was not. Clicking on a camera or two, he settled in to see just how far the sympathy would get him. 

*****

"I'm looking for someone to do a special task, and going through the files, I came across your application." The Captain leaned back in his chair, regarding Sara Waters, before continuing. "You would report to me and only me. You will be assigned one task and only one task - working out of your home with the hours dictated by the task."

Sara sat attentively in front of the Captain's desk beside Ruth Johnson from Human Resources and wondered what the catch was. It all sounded too good to be true. 

As if on cue, the Captain continued, "There are two aspects to this job that may not be attractive, and if you are not interested, it will have no bearing whatsoever on your career here at the bureau. Ruth, would you like to explain?"

Ruth paused as she regarded Sara - an attractive, young, black woman that came to the bureau from the sex trade industry; she was one of the aging strippers who had a BA from a local university that Linda had recruited. 

Ruth had had trouble understanding why, at 27, Sara had stated 'age' as her reason for leaving the trade. While scanning the investigator's report that had cleared her for employment, Ruth had seen that Sara's earnings from the last two years in the trade had exceeded ten times what she would make at the bureau in a year. But she had proven intelligent, responsible, and enthusiastic about her new life and career, excelling in the standard bureau training in police and investigative techniques.

"Sara, what I'm going to propose cannot leave this room. I need you to understand that and acknowledge it." Ruth waited while Sara shifted slightly in her seat.

"Yes, I understand. What you're going to discuss with me may not be discussed with anyone - well, other than the two of you, I guess." 

"That's right. First, do you know about the officer whose wife was murdered last week, supposedly, by the killer your department is investigating?"

"John? Sure, who doesn't?" Sara answered quickly.

"Have you ever met John?" Ruth asked.

"In person? No. I think he walked through the area once, looking for Linda, but I only got a glimpse of him from across the room."

"Good, Sara. Here's what we want you to do," and Ruth proceeded to explain, in great detail, what many in the bureau thought happened to John's wife and how they thought they could best confirm that hypothesis.

*****

Jack had taken Jan back to the computer room along with another chair. She sat there quietly and watched as he logged into several chat rooms, said 'hi', and moved on to the next. It was a Jack she didn't know - sitting in his wheelchair, moving from screen to screen, pausing to reflect, and moving on. He seemed immersed completely, and she suddenly felt alone even though he was less than four feet away.

His notebook would come out and passwords would be applied; then after a few moments inspecting the participants in a room, he would open another one. The silence, combined with his image in a wheelchair using his hands to move about the room, suddenly became overwhelming, and she stood quietly to step out onto the balcony, unnoticed.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't see you leave." Jack's voice was caring and concerned as he looked out from the doorway of the computer room while Jan shivered slightly in the early evening chill.

"It's okay, Jack. It was a little stuffy in there so I came out for some air."

Oblivious to any undercurrent, he continued, "Listen, Jan, I do have a plan. Let's talk about it. Okay?"

Stepping past her, he opened the door to his apartment and led the way to the dining room where he proceeded to build a small fire. He disappeared into the kitchen to return with two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine.

Jack started as he poured wine for both of them. "I talked to Lee. He has some information for me. Said he was finishing one part of it and would send it along later this evening." 

"Okay. What's the plan, Jack? Do we really have one?"

"Tell me why you think this woman you saw is 'cyber' Lisa." He settled and listened.

She searched some to find what it was before explaining. "First, the eyes. Eyes are as unique as fingerprints. The hair and cheek bones. Chin. Lips. Yes, I would swear it was her."

"Did she hide from you at all?" he asked.

"Not really. Maybe some, but I looked right at her twice, and she didn't seem nervous or look away" 

"That's good. If it really is 'cyber' Lisa, then we have her. It can't be a coincidence that she was in the coffee shop at my office when you appeared. Tonight, why don't you invite her over to your friend's house? Tell her you have to be here for the week, and it will be lonely for Thanksgiving. Even if she won't come, let me give you an address to give her where you will be staying." Pulling a paper and pen out of a drawer, he wrote an address down and laid it on the table in front of Jan.

"That's an executive apartment the company owns; it's for our employees who come into town on business." Walking to the phone, he called Michelle and checked the availability before asking her to block it off for him until the end of the year. No, he didn't care if people were coming in; put them up at the Hyatt. 

"We can't bring her here. Too much security," Jack responded to Jan's questioning look.

"What if I tell her, I thought I saw her today?"

"I don't think so. Not yet. Let me check something else." On the phone again, he called Michelle back and asked her to have copies sent to the apartment of all ground floor security cameras for the day, from six am to noon. Returning the cordless phone to its cradle, he continued. "Tonight, I want you to chat with Lisa from my study. Tell her you thought a change of scenery might be nice; say whatever you need to keep her from suspecting. Tomorrow, we're going to install you in the executive suite and tell her Wednesday night you'll be chatting with me in Miami. The suite is wired for LAN connection in every room. I'll be connected in the living room. Let's see what we can get her to do next."

*****

Linda lay naked on the bed in her hotel room, idly channel surfing with her laptop open on the desk where she could see the screen. Not as good a setup as she had at her place, but it would do in a pinch. The difficult part was working with only one computer.

It had been a slow day, but not a complete loss, she thought. What is Jan doing with Jack?

Scanning a piece of paper, she reviewed the information available to the public on Pond Enterprises: second largest privately owned company in the US; sole owner, Jack Pond; founded by his father; current CEO, Juan Francisco Martin, son of a British ex-pat, married to a Mexican, and who continues to own and operate a mining company in the northern part of Mexico.

She had finally given in to necessity and logged into her bureau mail; she found several pending correspondences: some general announcements, bureau policy changes, the death of John's wife, six mails marked urgent from the Captain which she left unopened, and one from Tom. Short and cryptic, it wanted to know where she was and what the hell she was up to.

Leaving all unanswered, she logged into NCIC and did some more digging on Pond Enterprises. Scanning the list of holdings and properties she'd printed in the business center, she looked again at the five addresses in the area. Two of them she'd identified as warehouse space. One was the office space in the building she'd been in that morning. Another one was a short distance away in an older, but nicely restored residential building. The last was listed as a warehouse, currently used for personal storage by the Pond family. It had to be the address of the residential building. That had to be where Jack lived.

Glancing at her computer once again, she could see Jan still hadn't logged on.

*****

Jack had started a fire and reverently removed the picture of him and Lisa from the wall. Bringing a small mahogany tea table from the living room, he had sat Jan's computer in front of the couch that faced the fireplace; her camera was on a tripod beside one of the wingbacks. At the end of the couch in panties and bra, Jan was half-reclined, apparently reading a book.

Jack sat at his desk out of camera range and watched the screen of his own computer where he was desktop sharing and recording Jan's machine again.

"Hi, Babe," popped up on Jan's machine, and Jack saw it on his own.

Reaching for the computer, he could see Jan and watched her set the machine on her thighs, legs crossed at the ankle and start typing.

"Hi, Lisa. How are you?"

"Oh, you know. Not a bad day."

"Great, Lisa."

"Where are you?" Lisa asked, having noticed the change of scenery and absence of a bed in the scene.

"I thought we could enjoy a change of scenery. Besides, I have a fireplace in here, and it's really cold outside today. Wanna see?"

"Sure," Lisa responded.

Setting her computer on the tea table, Jan stood, and Jack could see her hips, white panties, and stomach framed in the shot as she stepped to the camera and turned it to point at the fireplace.

"Nice," Lisa wrote.

Pointing the camera down at the hearth in front of the fireplace, Jan stepped back to the couch and threw a pillow on the floor by the tea table. Stepping across the cables, she sat Indian style on the pillow and pulled her laptop to her crossed ankles.

"How 'bout this, Lisa? Can you get into it?"

"Wow. Nice."

"Lisa, a question"

"Sure, Jan"

"I have to stay here until next week, and I'm staying at the apartment of an old college roommate who's gone for the week. Why don't you come visit me for Thanksgiving? It's really lonely here."

Jack watched Jan and Lisa's chat box for a reply. Finally, he saw Jan typing again.

"Come on, Lisa. We can be alone. I don't care what you look like. What I saw the other day looked very nice. Come take care of me, Lisa. Please?" Jan tried to sound as pleading as possible.

"What about Fred? He's not spending turkey day with you?"

"No. He has family in Miami, but he will be meeting with me Wednesday evening in chat. We have some private time planned. You want to join us?"

Again, no response, and Jack started to wonder what was going on.

"Come on, Lisa, come see me on Thanksgiving." Her pleading pout looked real enough on cam, but Jack could see off cam that it was slightly forced.

"Tell me where you are, Jan. I'll think about it. Is it really cold there? Can I wear a scarf, wrapped around my neck and face?"

"Sure, Lisa. This is New York in November. Cold as hell here. You can bundle up like an Eskimo if you want, and no one will notice."

Jack's heart raced as he watched the chat continue. Jan was giving Lisa the address and pleading a little more, and Lisa promised to think about it.

Then he noticed that Jan had sat her computer on the floor beside her; she slipped her bra off to lay down in front of the fire - a very sensual pose, at the least. So he quietly stood and slipped out of the room, feeling guilty over what he knew Jan was about to do and more to the point - why.

*****

The Sentinel watched, lost in Jan's body as her bra came off and was discarded out of cam view. Having put down the pen after checking the address and confirming it, the Sentinel once more bathed in the sexual tension created on-screen.

Yes, this is the one. I know it. "Yes Jan, you will have a visitor soon. I promise," was whispered to no one in particular as the Sentinel sought release.

*****

 John struggled to get the Kleenex up in time. He couldn't believe his luck. Black and beautiful. He could still feel her flesh against his as he'd bent her over the coffee table and driven his point home with a vengeance. Yeah, what better way to set the record straight for all his chat 'buddies'?

And a 'newbie' at that! She had come into the room he was chatting in about two hours ago. New and a little lost, suzi-q-zi had looked around, tried to comment, and get involved, but the room he 'hung out in' was a little rough and full of the old hands that were there for only one thing - Sex. Clicking on her cam, John had loved what he'd seen as she sat in her living room wearing a very small teddy with matching panties. No face in the picture, but who cared.

Clicking the 'Private Conversation' tab, he'd talked to her long enough to explain that this room might be a little too 'fast' for her, but he could help her out if she wanted. All she had to do was make her cam private, give him the password - no one else, and continue to chat here.

She'd been so easy. As soon as he got the password, he'd passed it along to all his 'chat buddies' and told them to 'watch a pro at work you, assholes'.

Sure they were all tuned in, he'd gone to work on suzi-q-zi. Oh yeah, that's what it's all about, he'd reassured her. No, no one can see any of this but us. No, relax; enjoy yourself. It's the safest sex on the planet.

He'd had to put up with her whining about being fired that day from some government job that probably didn't even pay the rent. Then she went on for half an hour about her boyfriend who was running around with some 'white slut' he'd met on camera at this very chat site. John was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to play Ann Landers all evening or if this shit was going to get serious or not.

But then, he'd discovered what she really wanted. She'd been shy at first, but it had all come out. She wanted to piss off the boyfriend; she wanted him to find her here on cam 'doing it' with some white stud. 

That's me, you black cow, he thought as he'd explained how it all worked. No, the guys don't get naked on cam much. It's all about the women.

John slumped in his chair and dropped his Kleenex as he watched her suck her fingers clean before typing.

"Wow. That was great. Damn, you're good."

"Was there ever any doubt?" he sent back.

"And what do I do now? How do I meet other people in here?"

"You don't," he sent back immediately. "Just hang around with me, and I'll take care of you. We'll work it out. Trust me."

"You're the best," she'd sent back. "Listen, I have to get to bed, early morning tomorrow but when can I see you again?"

"Don't worry about that, I don't need to work. You'll find me here most the time."

"Wow, you must have a lot of money," she'd sent back.

"Sure, I don't have to work. Not anymore."

"Well, I'll look for you tomorrow. Bye"

"Bye," he sent. He wanted to add, 'You black bitch', but had decided she looked too nice to piss her off this soon. Let me have my fun; then I'll show her what women are really for. 

*****

Sara sat quietly at her kitchen table in a terry cloth robe, typing up a 'contact' report for the Captain - nothing graphic, but complete in its explanation of what took place. She also attached a copy of their chat which she'd recorded using a special program the bureau provided; it was the same one she'd used on the 'floor' when she worked with Linda. She sent it off and settled in the living room to watch a little television before going to bed.

What a piece of scum, she thought as she found her program on the cable box and settled in. Just like the assholes she used to deal with when she danced. She knew his type - brain smaller than his penis and a penis smaller than her thumb. He probably couldn't keep it up more than five minutes; well, if he could get it up at all.

*****

Jack had showered and was reading in bed when Jan came in. Ashamed for having left her to deal with 'cyber' Lisa alone, he searched her eyes for some indication of what she felt. Panties and bra in her hand, she dropped them on the floor beside the bed and crawled up to take the book out of his hands.

Straddling his legs on all four, she looked at him a second before saying in an even, steady voice, "You abandoned me, Jack."

"Sorry, Jan. It didn't seem right. I thought you might feel bad." It was lame at best, but it was how he'd felt at the time.

"Jack, I want to help you with Lisa, but on cam masturbation is not my idea of fun. I am more than glad to do it for you. So next time, stay; enjoy. Okay?"

"Sure, Jan, sorry."

With that, her mouth fell on his as one of her hands pulled the cover and sheet down. "Jack, make love to me. Show me you really do understand."



The Sentinel Ch. 10



He sat on an old, ragged divan shoved against a bare brick wall at the back of the warehouse, smoking a cigar, lost in thought.  He seemed to be watching the two girls, working on a guy in what appeared to be a furniture store display 15 feet away. Bright lights created a sea of color in the drab cavernous building; a palate of pastels complete with carpet, walls painted light blue, and a few rock and roll posters hanging over the bed, created the illusion of a teenaged girl's bedroom suite -- a set. It was just another of the many sets Scott put together for the photographer to work with. 

He looked out of place in his Rhodes suit; Italian shoes with matching belt; salt and pepper hair, closely cropped; and manicured nails as his hand moved the cigar mechanically as if an afterthought to where his mind really was.

Staring off into the lofty space of the warehouse, his eyes didn't register the plastic-covered furniture - beds, stereos, nightstands, and other trappings used to create the look and feel of different rooms and settings stacked around the warehouse.

The photographer's and video crew's change of position caught his eye and brought him back. The girls were standing beside the guy they'd just sucked off, wiping cum off their faces, and laughing at something. Cameras were being stored in bags after their cassettes were taken out, and memory cards were being pulled from digital still-cameras. Finally, all 'medium' was brought over by a flunky to be put on the coffee table in front of the divan.

"Here it is, kids; come and get it."

Scott pointed at the small glass table at his elbow where snail trails of white powder were laid out with drinking straws that had been cut in half to facilitate inhalation of his actors' reward.

He'd become immune to nudity over the last five years, and the two girls naked on their knees, snorting away their lives, didn't really phase or interest him. Sure, they would offer to go back to his house with him; they would offer to do whatever he wanted as long as he kept the snow falling. It was all just meat to him - money in the bank, reaped from the hard times and poor decisions of others.

The girls were just that - girls. They all signed model release forms and presented proof of age in the form of college ID's or drivers licenses. He was sure more than a few who had been in his productions weren't old enough to drive and should still be shaking their pom-poms at some junior high school football game, but he didn't care. All their papers were on file. His corporation was protected, and he had the best lawyers money could buy.

Standing, Scott motioned to Tommy who gathered the digital video tapes and memory cards up and put them in a briefcase. 

"Pay them off and get them out of here before sunup. I don't want to find any cold bodies around when I get back." With that, he handed Tommy a wad of bills and took the briefcase.

"We won't party long, boss; my ol' lady gave me hell for comin' in at 4 in the morning smelling like pussy.  We gonna shoot tomorrow night?"

Scott knew Tommy tagged most the girls that came through. He wondered if Tom ever considered the possibility of AIDS but considering the age of the girls and relative lack of experience, maybe Tom figured they were still clean. Well, they won't be for long, he thought.

"No, Tommy, shut it down for the week, and we'll start up after Thanksgiving. I'm going to be out of town, and I'll give you a call Monday after the holiday sometime."

With that, Scott walked through a small, rusty door framed inside a larger freight door and into the chilly night air. With a click of his keychain, his Mercedes blinked its lights and chirped as if saying, 'here I am, waiting patiently'.

Driving through the streets of L.A. wrapped in his cocoon of warmth and luxury, he thought about his life. 

No matter what had happened since, he always started with that one day in another warehouse that had changed his life and sent him in a new direction. If he was honest with himself, that direction hadn't been too bad at all. A few hard knocks, here and there, but it had given him much more than his father's blue collar background would have.

His father had grown up and worked around the docks. A plainspoken man with few concerns beyond his next meal and where he'd sleep, his biggest contribution to Scott's life had been getting him his first job, sorting boxes in a small freight operation.

It was a summer job that turned into an after school job in the winter. It afforded Scott freedom from an oppressive home life with a mother who smothered him to compensate for a lack of attention from her husband, and a father who felt grunting was the accepted form of communication in the Ryan household.

Scott remembered when the police had come and taken him away in handcuffs. They driven him to his parent's house and left him in the cruiser as they'd knocked on the door.

His mother had answered the door, wiping her hands nervously on a pink apron as the officers had showed her a piece of paper - a search warrant. One officer stood on the porch, talking to his mother, occasionally glancing over at him in the back of the car, while the other officer walked past and entered the house.

It hadn't taken long to find; he hadn't really hidden it. He had actually thought it would never be detected. He'd been doing it for almost a year, and he always took small packages that he was sure didn't have anything of much value inside. It was more of a sport than serious thievery.

He'd heard Wayne at receiving, talking about it one day on break. "With as many packages as we handle, it's inevitable that we loose one or two a month, but the insurance pays for it." So what did it matter? Scott had appropriated a few nicer things and a lot of junk: training manuals for corporate procedures, framed photos of grandkids being sent to the grandparents, a girl's pair of ice skates. Nothing to write home about, but he still had the gold cigarette lighter that had been one of the nicer surprises.

Besides, how was he to know someone would send something so valuable through a freight delivery company? Who would send a diamond pendent? He'd even planned on taking it back and told that to the judge.

It had only taken six months to ruin Scott's life. Six months out of his last year in high school was enough to mark him as 'a punk', someone to be avoided by his ex-classmates even though he'd finished high school, gotten his diploma, and come out ready to find a job and start his life.

Molly had hurt the most. His high school sweetheart had been warned off by her parents and wouldn't even return his calls. Finding a job had been harder still. That's when the resentment had turned to rage; that's when he'd made a quiet vow to 'get even'. 

His father had gotten him an apprentice job with the local union on the docks, but when a crate of wine disappeared the second day he was on the job, all fingers pointed to him including his father's.

Then he'd discovered the sex trade - the strip joints and especially, the 'photo sessions'. He'd learned about setting up dates, taking pictures, doing the dirty work at parties, and going out on the street to buy the drugs that kept it all humming along.  Yes, he'd learned early just how much extra cash floated around the sex trade.

By thirty, he had his own 'back room' operation taking 'special order' photos for the girls and their customers. By thirty-one, he had his first Mercedes, and by thirty-five, he was in jail on racketeering charges - not only in jail, but in jail without protection.

He had never given in to the invitations from organized crime, and he'd defied them when the invitations turned to threats. He'd worked hard to build his small business, and he wasn't about to give a percentage of it over to a bunch of greasy-haired thugs for 'protection'. "Protection from what?" he told them. They decided to show him.

Two years later, he was on the streets again. His business had disappeared; his car and house sold to pay the lawyers. Starting from zero, he'd gotten a job at another warehouse - one that didn't look too closely at your credentials and expected you to look the other way when handling a 'special shipment'.

Keeping a low profile, he'd worked hard and lived on the cheap, shacking up with different women, letting them carry the burden of rent while he stashed his money away. Then he'd discovered the internet.

He'd first seen it in its infancy when there were no fancy, full color pages of photos and flashing messages to fill the screen. Then, there were only lists and lists of directories containing documents, and looking for information was like wading through an operating system directory. 

It was the days before internet carrier services when you had to know how to dial into a corporate or university portal and from there, move around, hoping you didn't get caught. Back then, the move from 300 baud to 1200 baud had been a monumental breakthrough and had allowed even more content to fill more hard drives in more locations. More specifically, it had allowed internet photos.

He'd learned about hacking someone's 'site' and how to move files around.  He'd learned how to download and save when storage space was still limited to 100 megabyte hard drives that clunked and clanked as they struggled under the burden of so much information being stuffed into them.

It hadn't been a far leap for Scott to figure out that he could take pictures of naked women and hide them away in someone else's server. Then ICQ, one of the first chat services, hit the 'web' as it was being called, and Scott suddenly discovered a buying public for the kind of pictures he had to offer. It was too good to be true. He could sit in his home and make more money selling porn than he ever had with his little 'back office' operation.

It pretty much became a routine. He cruised the bars, college hangouts, and strip joints, looking for young girls seeking a thrill and a marijuana high. He took them back to his place for the weekend, keeping them high enough that they didn't notice or care about the cameras, and dumped them back where he found them. Then he would spend a couple of days in the darkroom before scanning the pictures to create the electronic files he could sell.

The formula had worked well, and over the years his business had transformed along with the technology. The girls had become younger and shaving brought the view even closer. The internet, itself, had grown by leaps and bounds, and many speculated one of the driving forces behind faster and bigger machines, as well as the modern internet itself, was actually the porn industry. A well-kept secret the computer and software manufacturers managed to avoid.

His bedroom operation had moved to the garage, then to an abandoned grocery store, and finally exploded into warehouses along the west coast. 

He'd managed to take the nest egg he'd saved and turn it into a multi-million dollar business that provided the media for most the porn sites found on the market today. His media sat safe on offshore servers in a tax haven country that really didn't care what or who was in his pictures as long as some sleazy local politician got his cut. 

This time when the mob knocked on his door and invited him to give them 25% of his business, he didn't even think twice. He raised prices and forged ahead.

His best scam to date was overcharging credit card holders that had fallen into the trap of becoming members. Sure, it was nice when they were members and paid the ongoing fee for 'Full Access', but it was even better when they canceled, and he could hit them with a one dollar 'Service Charge' once a month. He could be sure they would never complain to their card company because what would the card company think of 'Joe Clean-cut' when he started complaining about a service charge from an internet porn site? With more than two million expired members, it was a nice chunk of change every month.

Arriving at his house in the hills, Scott flicked the garage door opener and looked idly out over L.A., spread out below, before pulling in and closing the door behind him.

Walking through the dark kitchen, he could hear the tapping of a computer keyboard and followed the noise to his bedroom where his two current bedmates lay naked, tangled in the sheets, chatting in one of the 'Teen Cam' sites he owned.

The girls continued to chat, lick, and kiss, seemingly oblivious to his arrival as he walked around the room out of camera range.  Dropping his Rolex and billfold on a tray on his dresser, his jacket on a hanger along with his slacks, and the rest of his clothes in the clothes hamper, he headed for the shower. 

"Here's your drink, Scott. You want a sandwich? Beth and I are hungry."

Cheryl had been with Scott for two years now. Easy going, attractive and never touching drugs, she co-existed more than lived with him. She slept in his bed and made love to the other women he brought to the house, but she never showed an interest in other men. She was also attuned to the business side and its demands, never complaining about time alone or impromptu business trips that didn't include her. Basically, she was convenient, and Scott never stopped to wonder what she might get from the relationship because worrying about others' needs was not part of Scott's personality. And at 28, she lent a little sanity and maturity to his home life as well as to the other girls, all much younger, that occasionally co-habitated.

"Sure," was all he said as he took the glass and walked under the spray to rinse.

Dried and robed, he regarded the four computer screens that glowed in his bedroom at the foot of his rumpled bed. One tracked stock prices of investments he'd made, along with on-line tracking of credit card movements as people signed up for or purchased things through his internet sites. The other three were for tuning into different sites to see what was happening, how the traffic was, and in general, what people were doing in chat rooms he ran.

In the kitchen Beth and Cheryl were sitting naked on bar stools, talking over sandwiches and coffee as if sitting in a diner at lunch time.

"How goes it, boss?" Beth asked.

Beth had been around for three weeks now and had already overstayed her welcome as far as Scott was concerned, but Cheryl had expressed a continued interest and commented to Scott that 'no one knows how to eat a pie like a pie baker'. So he'd let it go for the time being. He had to admit that they were beautiful, tangled up in each other, in his bed.

"And what are you girls up to for Thanksgiving?" Having his own plans, he wanted to see if anyone would be at the house during his absence.

"What are you doing, Scott? You need company?" Cheryl asked.

"Business. I leave in the morning and back the Monday after Thanksgiving."

"I need to go visit my folks. They keep bugging me about how my 'auditions' are going," ending in a giggle as Beth realized just how hard it would be to explain the results of her auditions.

"I thought I'd go back east and visit my sister and her family. I haven't seen them for a year now," Cheryl added.

Then they sat in silence, eating and listening to some jazz Cheryl had put on. Beth stayed to put the dishes in the dishwasher while Cheryl made the bed.

"Here, that's ten thousand. Give Beth what you want, and you keep the rest for your trip," Scott said, handing Cheryl an envelope full of bills.

"Thanks, babe; you're the best."

And with that, Beth returned, and the three of them crawled between the sheets. 



*****



An hour later, Beth and Cheryl were both exhausted and sleeping soundly as Scott slid out of the bed and wandered quietly to his study where he poured himself one last scotch and opened his safe. Pulling out a stack of bills, he counted out fifty, one hundred dollar bills which he slid into a leather document pouch. Setting that aside, he put the extra bills back and lifted a lockbox out of the bottom of the safe.

Extracting a key from his right-hand desk drawer, he opened the box and lifted a stack of plastic-covered ID cards, wrapped in a rubber band, and shuffled through them until he found the one he needed. Next, he lifted out of the box a stainless steel, Smith and Wesson semi-automatic and a pair of suede gloves and set them on his desk. Pulling the clip, he checked to be sure it was loaded before returning the lockbox to its place in the bottom of the safe, closing the heavy door, and giving the combination wheel a spin.

Opening his lower left-hand drawer, he pulled a leather binder out with plastic protector pages on the rings. Opening it on his desk, he leafed through until he found what he was looking for. Yes, working for the mob had its benefits. Sliding the gold detective's badge out of its plastic protector page, he pulled another drawer open to dig out a leather badge holder. Sliding the ID behind the clear plastic window and clipping the badge in place, he closed the desk and locked it before locking everything in a briefcase for his trip.

Walking past the girls as they continued to sleep, he went into a walk-in closet half as big as the bedroom. Lined with tailor-made suits, custom-fitted shoes, and hand-sewn shirts, he walked past all of it and went to another door - a closet within a closet. Unlocking the door, he opened a normal sized closet with several off-the-rack suits, off-the-rack shoes, and ties he'd picked up at Goodwill. Pulling out three suits and two pair of shoes, and then selecting the gaudiest ties he could find, (he particularly liked the purple and green one with a food stain), he carried it all out into the walk-in closet where he literally stuffed them into a duffle bag for travel.

Going back into the closet, he pulled out some off-the-rack Arrow cotton/polyester blend shirts, socks, and BVD's to throw on top. He wanted the rumpled detective look and was sure he'd blend in with the finest of 'NY's finest' by tomorrow evening. Next, he pulled out an old, frayed trench coat that had also come from Goodwill and rolled it up so he could stuff it in with the rest of his wardrobe for the week.

Finally, he pulled out a suede, hip-length coat that he carefully hung in a ragged-looking suit bag to carry on the plane with his briefcase and laptop. 

Back in his study, he picked up the phone and made a call. A gruff voice picked up on the second ring and answered, "Bruno." He had no doubt that the man who answered was not named Bruno, and neither were any of the other voices that picked up when he had used the number. 

"This is Mario; I need to talk to Sam." With his response, the phone clicked in his ear, and he hung up to wait. He knew organized crime had access to a myriad of flights; most were corporate jets, working for the expanding, legitimate, business side of the underworld. Less than a minute later, the phone rang. Without introductions or salutations, he heard the caller say, "Sam, here."

"I need a flight to New York sometime this morning. I'm carrying."

"Go to the street entrance for Landau Charters and tell them you're Mr. Phillips for the New York flight. Take a seat at the back of the plane, and the suits, up front, won't pay any attention to you. Do you need a return?"

"I'll call you."

"Flight leaves at 7:00 am. Have a nice trip."

With that, the phone clicked again in his ear, and he was finished. Yes, working with the mob had its perks.



The Sentinel Ch. 11



Jack called Michelle early to ask how the refrigerator was stocked and if anything else was needed so a friend coming in from out of town could occupy the executive suite for a week or so.

"Yes, Mr. Pond, it's all set. The concierge expects you and turned the heat on last night. Do you need a car today?"

"Yes, I do, around 9, and I'll need it all day. Can you send Miguel, or is he busy?"

"Yes, I can, and I'll give him the key to the apartment."

"One other thing, is Juan around?" Jack asked.

"One moment, I'll connect you, Mr. Pond." Michelle paused before saying, "Have a good day, Jack; I'm glad to see you're getting out."

Some elevator music played, and Juan came on the line. "What is this; don't you know some of us have to work?" But the chuckle in his voice belied the message.

"Nice to say hi to you, too, cabron," as Jack matched Juan's mock annoyance.

"Hey, I'm trying to lock this deal up before Thanksgiving," and softening his tone, he continued, "What can I do for you today, my friend?"

"I need something, and I need it today." But Jack stopped short of telling him what he needed.

"Hey, I head up a freight and shipping company. I can get anything you want, delivered where you want, and when you want. What is it Jack?"

"A handgun. Whatever our security people are using and two clips of ammo."

There was silence before Juan finally responded, "Do you want this legal or something a little less traceable?"

"Legal, if you can, Juan. If not legal, then completely untraceable."

"Oh, I think we still have a friend or two down at the police station. What do I tell them? Personal protection, registered to you?"

"That will do, nicely. Jan and I are going over to shop some at Macys. We'll eat around there, and I'll check in from the car when we get done."

"Okay, Jack, don't worry; we'll get it done." 

Turning to find Jan leaning on the kitchen counter sipping a cup of coffee, he explained, "It's not going to happen again, Jan."

*****

Linda languished in bed, having decided the previous evening what she would do next. Ordering breakfast from room service and turning on the shower to warm up the bathroom, she pulled out jeans and a turtleneck sweater and dug around in her suitcase for gloves and a scarf. New York was definitely not the place for a west-coaster to retire to, she thought.

She took a quick shower, and breakfast arrived as she started getting dressed. Standing barefoot, hair damp around her shoulders, in jeans and nothing else, she watched the busboy's reaction to her body closely. Her skin was flushed and pink from the hot water, while her nipples grew visibly as she stood bare-breasted, smiling to herself, at the feeling of power, Yes, I do have the power, she thought.

Today was to be a shopping day. She would see the sights a little and prepare for a visit to Mr. Pond's residence. Grabbing an old backpack she'd brought on the trip and dropping in her wallet with a few other items, Linda headed out.

Wrapped in the heaviest winter coat she'd found to bring on the trip, a scarf and ski mittens recovered from the back of her closet, and the backpack thrown over one shoulder, she headed for the subway system, taking a train up past Central Park and getting off in the heart of what she knew would be Harlem. Climbing the subway stairs, she was confronted with a different world - a microcosm of smells, colors, and sounds that contrasted greatly to the uniformed doormen and glittery, store windows of midtown Manhattan.

Pulling a scrap of paper from her coat pocket, she checked the address and got her bearings. Heading west, she took in the look, the feel and the rhythm of a darker side of the town as she watched the street signs. Finding her corner, she turned left and walked half a block to an alley. It was 10 in the morning, and although there was a clear sky above the indicated meeting point, a dumpster, about 20 feet down the alley and to the left, still had a dark and foreboding look to it.

Shifting the backpack as if it were a lifeline, Linda gathered her resolve and took a step into the alley while her eyes continued to scan the dumpster and the rubbish that surrounded it.

Then, there was a flash of color with a tug on her shoulder, and she froze as her backpack disappeared into the hand of a bicycle rider who turned and looked, leering at her, over his shoulder. Damn, she thought and started running after him, only to stop, almost immediately, when the cyclist turned around just beyond the dumpster and skidded to a stop. He stood, balanced over the short frame of a bike which was similar to one of those trick bikes that could dance and pirouette around a parking lot or down a flight of stairs when in the hands of the proper rider.

What she thought was a dreadlocked, teenage boy became a man in his 30's, black and bulky under his ski jacket, jeans, and heavy boots. He had a face that might have been attractive had it not been for a deep scar that ran from his right ear, down his jawline, and disappeared off the end of his chin.

Continuing to balance the bike between his legs, he found the zipper of the backpack and opened it to look in. She'd dropped her wallet, brush, lipstick, and bureau ID in there before leaving the hotel, and it made a small bundle in one corner of the backpack. Her presence, only ten feet away, seemed to be of little importance as a hand went in and came out with her wallet. Unsnapping the clasp, it flipped open, and he glanced at the credit cards, slipped into the inside cover for easy access. Below that, was her driver's license under a plastic window.

Looking up at Linda and back at the driver's license, he finally asked, "What you doin' wanderin' 'round in Harlem, girl?" Seemingly unconcerned with any information she could provide, he dropped the wallet back inside the backpack and pulled out her bureau ID holder, flipping it open.

"Damn, girl. You a cop?" This time, he waited for a response.

"I'm a government employee; I investigate internet crime." So much for being in control, she thought, as the slight quiver of her voice betrayed any semblance of being calm or unaffected by her current circumstance.

"Damn, girl, ya gotta stay off'n da' internet. Nothin' but bad shit out there."

With that, he dropped the ID back in the backpack, pulled the zipper closed, and tossed it back to Linda.

She just stood there and stared, not sure exactly what to do or what reaction was expected to his impromptu search of her personal possessions.

Walking his bike over to the side of the dumpster, he slid off and left it, leaning against a stack of garbage bags, out of view from the street 20 feet away. Reaching under his coat to the small of his back, he pulled out a dirty brown paper bag and held it, waiting for her to make the first move. Suddenly, realizing he was, in fact, her 'contact' that the concierge had put her in touch with, she walked over to stand in front of him and waited.

"Who you gonna shoot, little girl?"

"No one, I hope," she responded.

Suddenly, the Harlem gutter speech was replaced by a gentle, refined baritone as he reached into the brown paper sack and pulled out a leather-zippered bag. "No, I don't believe you will. It's a Smith and Wesson 38, detective special, as you requested. Two speed loaders, a box of ammo - hollow point, an ankle holster and rubber grips. No serial number and not traceable. Take a look, and be careful; it's loaded."

Linda took the offered bag and almost let it slip through her fingers from the unexpected weight. Getting a firmer grip, she unzipped the pouch and looked inside. Everything was there as advertised. Pulling a mitten off with her teeth, she reached into the pouch and pulled the gun out. She offered the leather bag to her mysterious salesman as she slid the release, popped the cylinder open, and confirmed it was, in fact, loaded. Then pushing the cartridge release, she let the bullets fall into her gloved palm, and she pocketed them. Closing the cylinder, she pulled the hammer back and inspected the firing pen. Then she lifted the gun and sighting on a cat, sitting 10 yards away, she squeezed the trigger.

Finally, she pulled the bullets from her pocket, reloaded the gun, and put it back into the offered, leather pouch. Then, digging in her backpack, she pulled out her wallet and $500 dollars in fifty-dollar bills.

As she handed the bills over, she took the leather pouch and dropped it into her backpack. "Thanks," was all she said.

"You have a nice day, young lady and if you feel lonely, give me a call. I don't always ride around on a bicycle."

Straddling his bike again, the Harlem street talk returned as if it was an accessory included in the purchase of his 'wheels'.

"Yo. Momma, you be lookin' real fine." With that, he was gone, just another 'black kid cruisin' the streets of Harlem.

The Internet Crime Bureau was not considered a violent crime fighter, and its employees were considered just that - employees - case workers and management. And although the ICB had a military management structure like most crime fighting units, they were not issued or expected to carry firearms. But, at the same time, training was given and proficiency expected in their use. It was as if they expected you to stop a perpetrator by taking the stance, raising both hands, pointing a vicious finger, and yelling, 'Stop, I know how to use a gun'. Government wisdom was often beyond the common man and always beyond logic.

*****

It was after one in the afternoon when Jack and Jan finally settled into one of the many eateries at Macy's for lunch. The shopping bags and winter coats made them appear more like a harried couple, trying to beat the Christmas rush, than a pair of intrepid vigilantes.

When the car arrived, Jack had wheeled down in his wheelchair and let Miguel help him into the backseat before storing his 'crutch on wheels' in the trunk for him; it was a small, light, black chair with no arms that he fondly referred to as his 'sports car'. 

Arriving at the front of the store, he'd looked at the revolving doors, letting people in one side while spitting more people out the other side, all of them with shopping bags on their arms as they rushed through their morning. He had decided, then and there, that he was not going to struggle around the store, using elevators and watching people step out of his way. He was going to enjoy the feel of Jan at his side, shoulder to shoulder, looking into her eyes, and not up at her as she gazed down.

When Miguel retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk, popping it open to push around to the door, he was confronted with a man, standing at the back door of the car, offering a hand to Jan as she stepped out. So entrenched in the idea that Mr. Pond couldn't walk, he jumped forward to make sure his occupants weren't being harassed or bothered and was confronted by a smiling Mr. Pond as he turned back to close the door.

"That won't be necessary, Miguel, but I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this under your hat until after Thanksgiving. Can I count on that?"

A little flustered, Miguel finally managed a stammered, "Of course, Mr. Pond."

Leaving him on the sidewalk, mouth still agape, Jack was warmed by the touch of Jan's hand as she took his and leaned in to rest her head, briefly on his shoulder. "I'm glad, Jack," she whispered.

Yes, it was a banner day for Jack. He was walking again only blocks from where his tragedy had started two years ago. He was moving among the living, and he had Jan at his side.

He had found it a little exciting to 'get out' and mingle, doing everyday things, looking at the merchandise, seeing the latest and sleekest in new gadgets, and smelling perfumes as they walked through the women's department - the bustle, smells, and sounds of a completely normal world - one he'd abandoned for far too long.

Jan had gone to the ladies' room, leaving him to peruse the menu when two uniformed police officers brought him out of his reverie as they waited beside the table for his attention. Glancing up, he recognized one as the officer that had shot him the day Lisa had died. Somehow it seemed appropriate, and he immediately stood to shake the officer's hand.

"I'm glad to see you. How have you been, Mike?" he asked as if meeting an old friend on the street.

Looking at Jack as if he were a ghost, he finally responded with, "Fine, Mr. Pond. Fine. And you?"

"Doing good, Mike. Here, have a seat," as he indicated two of the empty seats at the table.

"But you can walk. When did that happen?"

Jack proceeded to explain the new operation he'd had a month ago. Things had gone well - better than expected, in fact, and today was his first foray into the real world. "Somehow, it's appropriate you're here to witness it, Mike. Nice to run into you."

He'd made it a point, although a painful one for him, to send a letter of commendation to NYPD for Mike's 'quick and concise action in the face of a confusing and potentially dangerous situation', adding that he attributed most of the confusion to his own poor handling of the situation. He'd also made it a point to have Michelle send Mike a bottle of his favorite every Christmas.

Recovering with a smile, Mike put a small black briefcase on the table between them, clicked the locks, and turned it around for Jack to open. Putting a hand on top so he could explain first, he searched Jack's eyes before continuing. "The Chief asked me to find you and make sure you got it today. It's what some of our undercover guys use. A 9mm Browning, two clips, two boxes of ammo, and a clip holster that can be used in the small of the back or on the side. Sorry to ask, Mr. Pond, but do you know how to use this?" With that, he lifted his hand from the top of the case, and Jack reached out to open it enough to see everything described, stored snuggly in black foam cut out to size and shape. Snapping it shut, Jack set the case on the floor beside his chair.

"Yes, I do, Mike. My father taught me how to handle a gun, and I learned a little more in one of those 'Executive Anti-Kidnap' courses about four years ago. Our insurance broker insisted I take it, but I'm sure I could use some practice," Jack responded. "Nice of you to ask though."

"It's registered in your name, Mr. Pond, with authorization to carry it in the city and state of New York," Mike explained.

Jan appeared and wasn't sure what to make of the two uniformed officers at the table with Jack. "May I?" she asked, standing at her chair, waiting to see if this was a private meeting.

Standing to pull her chair back, Jack made the introductions, referring to Jan as a 'close friend' in town for a visit.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and the officers stood to leave. "We'll be off, Mr. Pond, and let me tell you again, it's great to see you up and around. Nice to meet you," and they both acknowledged Jan and left.

"You get a parking ticket for abandoning your wheelchair at the curb?" she asked.

"No. They dropped something off. I'm hungry; how about you?" With that, it became obvious Jack didn't want to discuss whatever had taken place, and Jan decided she was just as hungry and enjoying the morning too much to pry.

*****

John couldn't believe his luck, finding Suzi-q-zi out in the middle of the day. Her camera was turned on and private, and it gave him a small thrill to find the password was the same. Sure, why would she change it; she's looking for me. Of course, she is; I know what she wants, he thought.

"Hey, suzi-q-zi."

After 45 minutes of mindless dribble about her boyfriend and his poor departed wife, he was starting to loose his patience. If all she wants to do is talk, maybe Ann Landers can help out. What a drag. But, as if she'd read his mind, suzi-q-zi typed, "I need to take a shower. Wanna join me?"

Hell yes, thought John but instead he typed, "Sure, I've got awhile longer."

Her response surprised him.

"Don't let me keep you," and with that, she stood in front of the camera and pushed the terry cloth robe off her shoulders. Damn, she is so fine, thought John as his hand went to his crotch, and he squeezed his semi-hard cock a little. Maybe, I had better be careful, he thought; I don't want to loose this, not yet, anyway.

"Naw, just kiddin," he typed back.

Her response surprised him again as she bent over her laptop, giving him a long look at her full breasts which were a nice coffee with cream color and nipples, dark and hard. "Much better. If you're real good, I'll let you wash my back."

He sat, a little annoyed at the controlling nature of her response, and watched as she set up the computer and camera in the bathroom, giving him a view into the shower stall. Who does she think she is, anyway? Hell, she's just some black bitch with a body, made for riding like any other. His annoyance quickly gave way to lusty grunts and Kleenex-gripping as he watched the water and suds cascade across her skin. Then she turned, facing the camera, and lifted her leg onto the side of the shower-tub to trim her small black pubic patch, and he lost it.

Slumped in his chair, he watched as she finished up. Wrapping herself in a towel, she picked up the camera and laptop and moved into her bedroom. There, she placed the laptop on a chest of drawers that disappeared from sight as she pointed the camera at the bed, giving John a full view of what might take place next. He was surprised to find himself aroused so soon.

"Hey, you, you limp dick, white asshole. Where's your cam?"

Shocked, John leaned forward in his seat and actually stopped breathing from the rage he was feeling. Who the hell does she think she is? Suddenly, two shiny, leather, spike-heeled boots appeared in the middle of the bed, followed by a riding crop, tossed to one side. What the hell was going on, he wondered. But he was hooked, drawn in completely by the promise of something more than just run-of-the-mill cybersex, so he replied.

"It's sitting on top of my monitor."

The reply was immediate.

"I don't want to know where it's sitting, you cracker; I want to know why it isn't turned on."

Cracker? What the hell is this, he thought, and grabbed his mouse to close the chat. But he stopped, arrow hovering above the small X in the upper right-hand corner when he saw her crawl into the bed on her hands and knees, naked. Her ass was turned toward the cam, and she rolled onto her back, raising a leg for the camera. Reaching to the side, she lifted one of the boots and slid it on, pulling the zipper up to its edge at her knee. The dark crack between her legs rocked with her movements as her breasts swayed between her knees.

He watched her ass as she rolled onto her stomach and moved around on the bed, pulling the computer onto the covers beside her. 

"Hey, limp dick, I'm waiting on you. If I don't have your fucking cam on my screen in five seconds, with a shot of that needle dick of yours, I'm going to turn off my cam."

He couldn't believe it. He wanted to shut her off but couldn't. Looking down at his lap with his pants around his knees and his cock now a wilted wad, he was torn between shooting the stupid bitch and turning his cam on for her. With that, her picture went black, and she typed another message.

"What's a matter? Poor, little, white boy afraid to come out and play with his big, black momma?"

In a rage, he clicked on his broadcaster and put in a password. Clicking 'Broadcast', he typed, "There it is. The password is black bitch." And hit Enter.

"Well, you better change it and be fast about it. Make the password needle_dick."

He smoldered as he watched her cam come back on, and he could see her other leg in the air as she closed the zipper on the second boot, letting her hand come to rest on her pubic mound, her fingers draped down over her crack. Stopping his broadcaster, he made the password change and brought it back on-line.




The Sentinel Ch. 11



"There it is."

He watched her lean into her laptop, bringing her face close to the screen as if searching for something before her mouth opened in laughter.

"LMFAO, that's it? Hell, maybe your wife committed suicide." (LMFAO was chat shorthand for 'Laughing My Fucking Ass Off').

He actually cringed before rage took over again, and his cock withdrew further which only caused him more anguish.

"What the fuck is this, you bitch?"

Looking at her cam, her head propped on one hand, she reached between her legs with the other and slid her finger in deep before bringing it out to suck clean. Turning to her computer she typed, "This? This is sweet. This is what a woman does when she can't find a real man."

Looking back at the screen, he watched her roll back on her back, spikes dug into the bedspread and knees up making a V as she started masturbating. Suddenly, he was excited again, and his hand dropped to his lap where he pulled and stretched his cock, wanting to fuck the black bitch that was tormenting him.

As soon as his cock was hard, she stopped and rolled back to type.

"Did I say you could do that?"

What? I'm going to fucking kill her. Before he could take whatever action he thought would kill her over the internet, she typed another message.

"I been talking to all your buddies in here. They been telling me all about your wife and her fine black stud."

He was shaking now with rage. Who the hell do these perverts think they are? Typing frantically, he replied.

"Fuck, you."

"That's it? That's your best shot?"

"Fucking black cow."

Rolling onto her back again, she started masturbating faster, harder, and he was suddenly frustrated by his growing desire to have her and fuck her, to bend her over the bed and make her hurt, and to listen to her yell for him to stop because it was too much. He wanted the power back and found his hand pulling on his cock again only to be stopped by her typing.

"I didn't say you could do that."

"Fuck this shit," he sent back and turned his camera off.

He sat there slumped in his chair and watched as she curled her legs up against her thighs and looked at the camera with a pout. Turning to her machine, she typed some more.

"I'm sorry. I thought you would like it. Don't go away. Come back. I'll be good."

He hesitated, but her passive posture and seductive pout won him over. Clicking on his broadcaster, he typed a message.

"What the hell was that about?"

She apologized again and explained that her boyfriend liked it and she thought he might as well. She had wanted to give him something special.

Later, after an hour of submissive play, bending to his wants and direction, she told John what a wonderful lover he was and made a 'date' for the following evening at nine. Moving to her kitchen, she filed her report. Yes, it would be sooner than she thought. After sending the mail, she called the captain to make the necessary arrangements. 



The Sentinel Ch. 12



Tell me Jack, what do you plan to do if you find the killer?" They sat in the living room of the Pond Enterprise executive suite with a local jazz station playing softly in the background; a plate of cheese and cold cuts and an open bottle of Merlot were sitting on the coffee table.

He picked through the plate, selecting a piece of ham and cheese for his cracker and contemplated how to answer. It was an issue that had been so clearly defined a week ago but now, he suddenly wasn't sure.

Taking a sip of wine, Jan tried another tack, "Tell me what the gun's for then."

"I want to be able to defend us. I don't want to be taken by surprise again."

"Fair enough, but what do you think could happen?"

He pondered a second before answering. "What we do know is that the killer, in all the killings, including the most recent out in California, gained access easily and without leaving a trace of evidence or sign of forced entry. You and I know, or at least suspect, that 'cyber' Lisa is the killer. It's the only explanation, and that means the killer knows where you are right this minute and how to find you. We're trying to provoke her, or whoever it is, and it would be stupid not to have some protection."

"Okay. So you and I are here, and the killer comes in. I can't be in chat with him because he's on the move. Maybe we're in bed or making breakfast. What then? A struggle? Do I get shot first? Or maybe, you get shot again, leaving me to struggle alone with the killer." Pausing for another sip in order to allow the possibilities to sink in, she continued, "Jack, I don't know what will happen to us after this is all over, but I don't want to loose you, not even as a friend." Standing, Jan carried her wineglass to one of the tall windows in the living room and pushed the curtain aside to watch the traffic go by below.

"Me either, Jan, but I know we need to at least have the option. Maybe guns will never come into play. Maybe someone will show up at the door, and it will be as simple as inviting them in for drinks while you call the police. But I do know this; having some form of defense equal to 'cyber' Lisa's preferred form of killing is comforting somehow."

"Jack, don't kill just to kill, out of rage or for revenge. I don't want to be visiting you in some prison somewhere."

*****

Back at her hotel, Linda ordered room service and checked her mail. Aside from two more mails marked 'urgent' from the Captain's address, there was nothing new to look at.

Checking the room's closet, she pulled out a grey, knee-length business suit, white silk blouse, and thigh highs, deciding her visit should at least look official even if it wasn't. Opening a shopping bag on the bed, she pulled out a calf-length, black cashmere cape with red lining and pulled the tags off. The pockets on the inside and the slits to push her hands through gave her freedom of movement and a nice place to hide her handgun.

Linda gave the cab driver the address and leaned back in the seat to wonder what it would be like to stand in front of Jack Pond, and even better - find Jan there. What do they think they're doing? It was something she hoped to find out shortly. 

*****

The suite had two bedrooms, and Jan had retired to the one which was to be theirs to check her mail and test the internet connection which was available. Jack was doing the same on his laptop in the living room. One mail that he'd been waiting for had finally arrived. Clicking on the unread message, he was surprised by all the information that Lee had been able to discern from a few grainy cam photographs captured from a computer screen.

The first clue had been the bulletin board at the back of the room. Following Lee's instructions, he clicked on the first attachment - a blowup of a cut out from one of the original photos, showing only the bulletin board. Aside from the cropping, the main difference was the detail. In the upper left-hand corner of the board was what looked like a company or office calendar with the initials ICB at the top. It was for the month of November, and Thanksgiving was clearly shaded along with the Friday that followed. A few of the days had entries logged with what appeared to be an ink pen using dark ink, and it clearly showed the handwriting style of the person who had written them. Checking Lee's note, referencing the first attachment, he saw the only comment was 'Internet Crime Bureau'.

The next note and attachment gave him a closer view of a handwritten note located in the block for the 9th of the month. He didn't need to read Lee's notes because the blowup was so clear, but he checked them anyway. Lunch with Tom -- selection strategy. Okay, Jack wondered, who is Tom, and what are they selecting?

Moving on to attachment number three, he found himself looking at a close-up of a yellow handbill for a Chinese, takeout restaurant that was tacked below the calendar. In checking the notes, all they said was, go to next. Opening the next attachment, he found a close-up of the phone number and address of the restaurant from the bottom of the handbill. He checked Lee's notes again, but they simply read, 'five block delivery radius'. Damn, thought Jack, getting pretty close.

The following attachment showed a close-up of a pizza place with more or less the same information. Not one of the national chains, it seemed to be more of a Mom and Pop business with delivery between Elm and Oak from 10th to 15th. A small grid of lines displayed the location of the restaurant, more or less in the middle of all the lines. Checking the notes once more, Jack read Lee's observation - it was the same dialing prefix.

The last piece of information from the bulletin board was a handwritten note on a torn scrap of paper that said, 'office numbers', with three phone numbers listed, all numbers quite legible. Looking at the corresponding note from Lee, it read, 'Internet Crime Bureau'.

Jack had heard of the ICB but had written them off as a bunch of bureaucratic idiots some time ago. He knew they were the investigative group trying to find the 'On-screen Killer', and he also knew they had accomplished nothing since Lisa had been killed.

Lee's next note contained an internet link with a cryptic warning, 'turn your cookies off and firewall on before visiting'. Jack's computers were as undetectable as they could be, and he was always careful not to leave electronic signs of where he'd been or where he was. So he clicked on the link and waited. At first, not much could be discerned from the link; it started at the home page of ICB and trailed off to a couple of inches of numbers and code that took him who knew where.

At last, a page loaded with the ICB shield in the upper right-hand corner and a name and number below a box which started filling with a picture. Linda Woo -- Investigative Director - 2900. The name and title had little meaning to Jack, but the picture did. He sat frozen a minute before calling Jan in.

"Is this the woman you saw today at the coffee shop?"

Jan actually jerked before freezing as she stared at the picture. "Yes, Jack, it is," was all she said after a minute of staring wide-eyed at Linda's picture.

"That's what Lee found for me. He tracked down information off the bulletin board, went to the site, and looked through the employee ID files until he found her, I guess."

"Who is she?" Jan asked as she sat on the couch beside Jack.

"An 'Investigative Director' for the Internet Crime Bureau, and I guess her badge number or employee number is 2900."

"But how could she..." and Jan's voice trailed off.

Jack had no answers so he saved the page to his desktop and went back to the mail from Lee. There were no more attachments, only a paragraph telling him, 'not to expect a visit from this one, she's a pro and probably thinks you're the 'on-screen killer'. He also included her address and phone number, saying he could always drop in on her if he wanted. Jack failed to share Lee's sense of humor on the matter and just sat there a minute, staring at the screen.

"Is there a box of video tapes in the other bedroom?"

It took Jan a second to figure out Jack was talking to her but finally responded with, "Not that I've seen."

"Let's find them. There should be a box of video tapes around here from the security cams in the building at the time you saw 'cyber' Lisa...well, Linda Woo, I guess."

Finding them in the pantry in the kitchen, they moved to the living room and started with the ground floor - the only tapes that really interested Jack. It took 45 minutes, but there she was striding into the entrance and turning into the coffee shop. There was no cam in the coffee shop, but they picked her up again from a different angle, looking in through the plate glass window as she sat at her table and drank something from a cup.

Asking Jan what time she thought she had arrived, they searched forward until they found her walking past Linda's table to take up station a few booths away. Linda's interest in Jan was real, and a few of her stares were more than obvious as she looked openly at Jan when she thought it was safe.

"What now, Jack?"

"I wish I knew, Jan. I wish I knew."

*****

Linda leaned forward and paid the cabby, before pulling her cape tight and stepping out into the cold. The entrance was canopied with a plush, red carpet that extended a few yards into the public walkway, and a uniformed doorman stood inside the door, trying to decide if she was moving on or coming inside.

Patting the huge right-hand pocket of the cape, she felt the reassuring weight of her recently-acquired handgun. At the same moment, she felt a tap on her shoulder and heard a masculine voice asking if she was, in fact, Linda Woo of the ICB.

Spinning on her heels, she was confronted by two men in business suits with trench coats as armor against the wind. One was holding up an ID that said FBI in large blue letters over a picture ID that did, in fact, look like the man holding it. The other waited quietly for Linda's response.

"Yes, I am. What's this about?"

"Sorry, Ms. Woo, but we have instructions to take you to our office so you can make a phone call."

"A what? A phone call?"

"Ms. Woo, we don't want to cause anyone discomfort, but your boss was adamant. You are to come to our office and call him. Once we make contact, we are not to let you out of our sight until that call is made."

What could she do? Glancing at the doorman watching the exchange, Linda slid her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the handgun to keep it from bumping into one of the agents as they escorted her to their black Ford sedan, parked in the 'no parking' zone used for drop off and pick up.

Arriving at the office, Linda practically jumped out of the car before it stopped and stormed toward the elevator where she took up a post, waiting for the agents to catch up.

They had no idea what this was all about, but the request had come from high up, and this was certainly one pissed off woman. After showing her to the conference room, one of the agents asked if she would like a cup of coffee. This produced a curt 'No, thank you', and he closed the door, leaving her to make her call.

Linda toyed with the idea of not making the call and just walking out in ten minutes to say 'Thank you' and leave. But, being in the FBI office, the heart of monitoring and deceit, she decided they were probably monitoring her phone call anyway and picked it up to dial.

"What is it, Captain?" was all she said when the Captain picked up his phone.

"Nice to hear from you, too, Woo. Are the Feds treating you right?"

"What is this shit, Captain? You have no right to have me brought in off the street like a criminal."

"Shut up, Woo." The Captain didn't say it so much as thunder it across the line, and Linda crumpled into the nearest chair to wait, thinking it might not be a good moment to antagonize.

After 15 seconds of silence, he was sure he had Linda's attention and continued in a normal, more cordial voice.

"I'm not going to ask you what you're doing in New York. And I'm not going to ask you what the hell you're doing, buying an untraceable handgun from an FBI undercover agent."

With that, Linda cringed.

"What I'm going to do is tell you what you're going to do." The Captain paused briefly, to see if he still had Linda's attention. Satisfied he had every modicum of attention she could muster, he continued. "You are going to find one of the agents that brought you there, and you are going to relinquish your weapon. They will give you a receipt which you will put in your purse, and then, they will take you to your hotel. Upon arriving at your hotel, one of them will accompany you upstairs for your things and help you check out. You with me so far, Woo?"

"Yes, Captain." The fight and antagonism was gone. She knew she could be in serious trouble for buying an untraceable firearm, serious enough to put her in jail if the Captain wanted to.

"Good. Then you will be taken to the airport where there will be a reservation in your name at American Airlines. You will get on the plane and fly back to California, well, L.A., to be more specific, and I will meet you personally at the airport. Got all that?"

"Yes, Captain."

"You gonna fuck it up, Woo?"

"No, Captain."

With that, the phone clicked loudly as the Captain slammed his receiver into the base. Yes, I got it, Linda thought. Damn.

*****

Dave's day had gone about as well as Linda's. A few minutes at Jan's secretary's desk and a cup of coffee had provided him with the address where Jan could be found.

Two days later, found him in the Big Apple, sitting in a rental car outside a black iron gate that gave little hint of what lay beyond. Pulling up to a speaker, he pressed a button and waited.

"May I help you?" the metallic voice inquired.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Jan Cranston, and I believe she's staying here."

"I'm sorry, do you know who she'd be staying with?" asked the voice.

Damn, who she's staying with? Must be that guy that was hanging around last week. What was his name?

"Some lawyer guy. I think he said his name was Lake or Pond or something like that."

"The Mr. Pond that lives here isn't a lawyer. Sorry." And with that, the intercom went dead.

Punching the call button again, Dave waited while he noticed the cameras tuned into his inquiry. It didn't look like a place that he could bluff his way into.

"Sorry, my mistake, not sure what I was thinking. That would be right, Mr. Pond; Jan Cranston is my boss and would be staying with Mr. Pond."

"Sorry, they left this morning and won't be returning tonight. If it's urgent, you might try Mr. Pond's office and see if they can help you."

"Thanks, I'll do that. Could you give me the number?"

Writing the number on the back of his car rental contract, Dave decided to go back to his hotel and see what he could find out.

*****

Scott Ryan seemed to be the only lucky person that day. He'd checked into his fleabag hotel the day before and had quietly cased the outside of the building that Jan was staying in, a couple of times. He had even managed to get a glimpse of someone that looked very much like her in a third-story window.

He had located the freight entrance at the back of the building which looked flimsy at best and would be easy to breach. Walking past the entrance one last time on his way back to his hotel, he made a mental note of the doorman that continued to lurk at the entrance and wondered idly, what time he retired to the concierge's efficiency apartment for the evening.

With all his care and preparation, Scott failed to notice or inspect closely the street bum at the corner of Jan's building. The man spent his time warming his hands around his mouth and shuffling around a black garbage bag, crumpled at his feet, occasionally accosting passersby for handouts. If he had noticed, he might have seen that the shoes the man wore were quite a step up from those of a street bum. If he'd walked close enough, he might have noticed this was a street bum that didn't smell like last week's garbage. And, if he had really looked closely, he might have been able to discern that the accumulation of six months' filth on the man's face was only lines of makeup and theatrical smudge markings. 

With the traffic and lack of parking in Manhattan, the antenna farm had been relegated to a parking garage, and the team had dispersed around the building. The appearance, for the second time, of the man in a rumpled, trench coat was reported by the bum on the corner as he warmed his hands around a hidden, lapel microphone, slipped into a small slit in his glove. It was also noted by a second man, sitting in a coffee shop, opposite the other corner of the building. It was this man who then picked up a cell phone and called a taxi which was sitting a block away. It wasn't just the rumpled walker's appearance that had caught the bum's eye; it was the man's calculating survey of the front of the building and his scrutiny of the area in the general direction of the apartment Mr. Stone and his guest were in. But, the deciding factor was Scott's pause to look into the reception area of the building, a little longer than normal. So as Scott paused to cross the street and return to his hotel, a yellow cab turned the corner, squeezing in between a beer truck and city bus which caused a chorus of blaring horns and exaggerated hand gestures from the cab driver. 

It all served one purpose; the cab's passenger managed to snap four quick shots of the walker before the cab moved on.

Within five minutes, Scott was in his room, unpacking his laptop and preparing to log on, and the cab, along with the rest of the team, had returned to its place. The passenger sat in the back of the cab and methodically downloaded the pictures to his laptop before using a cell phone link to log into a mainframe. From there, the pictures were sent for analysis, posting, and possible identification. 

The bum on the corner kept vigil along with the man in the coffee shop. The man sitting in a dingy bathroom, looking out on the alley behind the building, scanned the copies of the pictures he'd received and notified the team that it was confirmed; it was the man who had sauntered through the alley earlier in the day. While his perch didn't give a good look at anyone's face, he could tell by the rumpled, trench coat and hair.

It had been easy for the team to identify the two men, picking up the lady at the entrance shortly before Scott's appearance. Aside from the description, they had the plate number of the car. A few phone calls from higher up had let them know the Feds were simply locating another government employee so she could get in touch with her office. Something about a bust they wanted her involved in.



The Sentinel Ch. 13



Jack sat in the living room watching Jan on cam as she reclined in bed on top of the covers, waiting patiently for 'cyber' Lisa to appear. Sharing her desktop again, they had decided she would push Lisa tonight to come and visit, explaining how lonesome it was. Jan would tell 'cyber' Lisa she had confirmed that her 'lover' Fred would be in Miami, and they were planning a get-together on cam Friday night instead of tonight. Maybe, Lisa could be here and 'add a little spice' to things.

He watched as Jan opened her mail program and idly started the process of logging on to check her mail when the phone rang.

"Jack. What the hell are you two doing in tonight? You should get out and kick up your heels, if you know what I mean." Juan seemed in a jovial mood.

"Right, cabron, and get run over crossing the street and end up in a wheelchair again? Then I'd have to let you run the company forever," Jack replied in jest, trying to match Juan's mood as he watched Jan going through her mail. "Or, is that the plan?"

Juan's warm chuckle spoke more of being glad he'd caught them in than a rebuke for not being out working his legs. "Naw, this thing is getting entirely too big; you think I want to be tied to running this monster?" Jack could tell there was more Juan wanted to say.

"You and Jan busy later? I was thinking a late dinner?"

"Where are you, Juan? The office?"

"Sure, I'll be here until 9:30. I was thinking we could go to that Italian place down in Soho. Bet you haven't seen Momma Rosa in years. Give me a call."

"Okay, if we haven't called by the time you're ready to leave, then call back."

Hanging up the phone, Jack noticed Jan standing at the door from the bedroom, a concerned look on her face. He suddenly felt guilty for having let his guard down, leaving her unobserved for even five minutes when they were waiting for 'cyber' Lisa to connect.

Standing, he walked to her and started to apologize, but she brushed it off with a wave. "She's coming," was all she said, and Jack froze in his tracks.

"What?"

"I got a mail from Lisa; she said she'd be here sometime Friday evening." Jan just stood there, leaning against the door frame in panties and bra with an expression that went from concern to conservative neutrality as she waited for Jack's reaction.

"Did she say what flight? How she would arrive? If she was here already?"

"It was brief. She said, thanks for insisting, and that yes, it might do her good so she would be here Friday night. She wasn't going to tell me exactly what time so she could surprise me and maybe, even you, well, Fred."

Stepping closer, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly on the side of the neck while his arms wrapped around her shoulders as if fending off some unknown assailant. Guiding her to the couch, they sat down in the glow of his computer screen for a few minutes.

Kissing her again, he explained that Juan had called and invited them out for a late dinner. "Maybe, we need a break right now before we decide how to handle this."

An hour and a half later, a stretch limo picked up a couple bundled up for a Manhattan winter evening on the town, and they huddled in the back without talking as it carried them back to the Pond office to pick up Juan.

*****

Linda sat exhausted in a sports bar, a couple of blocks from the office. The Captain had picked her up as promised, and there'd been little talking in the car. Arriving at the office, she had sat quietly in front of his desk without protest, listening to he and Ruth explain what had been happening and what was planned. Considering her misstep with the undercover FBI agent in New York, there wasn't much she could do but participate. The Captain hadn't mentioned it, but she was sure he would if she alluded again to the fact she had quit.

"So what do you think, Tom?"

Reaching in his jacket, Tom pulled out some folded papers, opened, and flattened them on the table between them as she took a drink of her beer. She recognized them immediately as the special 'short list' of possible suspects he'd given her what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Sorting through the pages, he pulled one to the top before asking, "Did you ever look at these?"

"I assigned them and meant to, but, to be honest, no, I didn't."

Running his finger down a page, he stopped and turned the stack so she could read the information he was pointing out. Following the line of information out from his finger, she paid special attention to the name in parenthesis at the end. 

Looking at Tom to see if he was smiling or this was some kind of joke, she saw he was dead serious.

"Are you sure about this?"

Pulling the papers back and taking a drink of his own beer, he regarded her, trying to gage her reaction before responding.

"Sure, I'm sure. And we confirmed half the information from his own laptop when he was invited to take a little extended leave time."

Linda was stunned and suddenly confused. But she knew it wasn't true. She knew where she had to be, and all this was just wasting time.

"That's bullshit, Tom. John may be a racist asshole, capable of killing, but I don't think he's smart enough to pull off all of these."

Tom pulled another sheet of folded paper out of his pocket and pushed it across the table before returning to his beer. Unfolding it, Linda leaned over the table on her elbows and started reading. It was a list, showing a correlation between John's whereabouts, obtained from work records, and the time of each murder which now included that of his own wife.

Four were on weekends and within a few hours flying time. The day his wife was murdered, his car's exit time from the parking garage was logged. According to the medical examiner, it gave him ample time to drive straight home, shoot her, and leave her upstairs, waiting for someone else to discover the body. The last murder which was actually the third in the series took place on a Tuesday, and office records indicated John had called in sick on Monday of that week and returned Thursday after the killing.

Linda slumped back into her chair and took another drink of beer. Picking up all the papers, Tom folded them carefully before putting them back in his jacket pocket. Picking up his beer mug, he leaned back in his seat and waited on Linda. He knew she was a good investigator and wanted her to draw her own conclusions.

Some pre-game sports program was on the widescreen TV, and the bar was loud as people had their last hurrah with friends and coworkers before Thanksgiving.

"I don't think so, Tom," was all she said before digging in her purse to throw a five on the table.

Watching her walk away from the table, Tom wondered if showing it to her in black and white would be enough. He'd left the other name off the short list because it seemed a little absurd, rather like the fox guarding the hen house, but now he wondered. 

Linda had changed since taking on the task force. Aside from the expected hectic schedule that went with heading up a task force of this size, there was a myriad of other demands that came with increased responsibility. He'd watched her become withdrawn - a loner. 

He'd been surprised and had even tried to shrug it off as someone immersed in the medium they worked in. But her adamant brush-off of John as a suspect, left him wondering if the fact Linda had 42 chat names that he'd been able to trace to her was a sign of something more sinister than immersion in work.

He hoped not.

*****

John sat at his desk in a bourbon-soaked daze, ogling suzi-q-zi as she stretched, naked on top of her bed. Dropping the wadded Kleenex on the floor, he groped for his pants and stood with a sway, pulling them up to fasten and buckle them before falling hard back into the chair.

"That was fuking graet," he typed, managing to misspell half the message.

Rolling on her side, suzi-q-zi looked at the message and decided she needed to reel this fish in a little.

"Glad you enjoyed. Now, when you gonna introduce me to a real man out here so I can really get my rocks off."

John stared for a minute as his mind processed what this black bitch was saying before finding the keyboard to respond. 

"You're just a black cow that's good for one thing, and I just took care of that." Hitting the ENTER key a little harder than was needed, his hand waved around the desk until it found his drink.

"Right. What is that you carry around in your pants, you cracker? A snub-nosed 38? LMAO." With that comment, she'd indicated he had a three-inch dick and thought it was funny as hell.

Slamming his drink down, he got his hands back on the keyboard and typed frantically. "Listen bitch, you wanna know what I can do with this? Tell me where and when, and I'll show you what it's like to be with a real man."

There it was - just what she'd been waiting for. But she had to be sure he was mad enough; she had to make sure casual sex wasn't the only thing on the agenda.

"What ya gonna do, tickle me to death? LOL"

John could feel the red as it moved up his neck. His ears burned, and his vision went blurry from the rage. She'd be easy. He could do her easier than he had Marge; there was no connection between them, no established public relationship that could tie him to her. All their chats had been private, and he hadn't talked about her or invited any of his 'chat buddies' to watch or participate after that first night.

"Put up or shut up, bitch," was all he typed while Sara watched his movements. He typed pounding the keys; then he sat glowering at the camera with a lecherous snarl on his face, waiting for her response.

Pouting into the camera for several seconds, suzi-q-zi turned to her laptop and typed "I'm sorry; I was just playing again. I thought you would know it by now." Hitting ENTER to send the message; she turned back to pout once more like a scolded school girl.

John watched as she played a hand across her nipples and pinched one between her fingers. Lifting one of her legs, her hand slid down to her crotch where a finger disappeared before trailing back up her body to her mouth where her pout encased it as she sucked animatedly. Sorry bitch, John thought, I've had enough of your games.

"It's okay, suzi-q-zi. Listen, why not?"

"Why not what," came back from suzi-q-zi.

"Let's get together. You can even bring your boots and play all you want"

Sara felt a little rush at playing the game. She felt a bigger rush when she contemplated winning. But she had to be careful; she didn't want to make it too easy.

"WOW. I don't know. I'd love to, but really, we don't even know each other."

"Hey, we've made love everyday for almost a week, and I don't think there's any part of you I haven't seen yet. EFG." John added the Evil Fucking Grin to draw her in, to say, 'hey, we've done it all; let's consummate'.

John couldn't believe his luck as he walked across his basement floor, screwdriver in hand, looking for the board that hid his stash. No, he didn't have anything better to do Thanksgiving Day. The kids were off with an aunt, and for some reason his name had never come up in the invitation. Of course, what could he expect from Marge's sister? Stumbling on a box of Marge's things he'd brought downstairs to be thrown out, he cursed as he saw the damage done to the board as it pulled free too quickly. Who cares he thought; I'll dump it all tomorrow.

Carrying the jacket and other items upstairs, he put it all in a small gym bag he used for summer softball league. Yes, tomorrow would be a special day for suzi-q-zi. 

*****

The Sentinel sprawled on the chair watching the dramas play out on different screens. The chat in one room was flying across the screen as the occupants verbally abused some poor soul that had ventured an opinion contrary to that of the majority of its occupants.

Using passwords pulled from the tattered notebook at the Sentinel's elbow, a few private chats were open with their cams on. Everything, from sex to violence, bathing to cooking, could be found.

The rooms seemed exceptionally full, and the Sentinel wondered if that was due to the upcoming long weekend. Everyone was squeezing in that last thrill before Thanksgiving tomorrow with the family.

The Sentinel would not be having a Thanksgiving meal. There would be no celebration with family or even friends this year. It had all become so consuming - the virtual reality - drawing in the innocent and spitting out jaded cynics that visited the darker side of human nature more frequently than the human psyche could tolerate.

Looking at another screen, the Sentinel's eyes settled on suzi_blue and her boyfriend as they said their lingering goodbyes. Making vows for an electronic date on Friday evening after family activities subsided, the Sentinel began to wonder if a mistake was about to be made. Could it be that Jan was not the chosen one?

Settling lower in the old leather chair, the Sentinel wondered. Well, that should be settled soon, the Sentinel decided.

*****

Jan did more than fall into Jack's arms when they arrived back at the apartment; she surrendered. She'd watched the tearful reunion as Momma Rosa hugged Jack close and cried while Jack responded in kind.

Rosa's had been a favorite haunt of Lisa's and Jack's when she was in town, and Rosa had been won over early by the quiet couple that always sat in the corner booth in the back lingering over wine as their candle burned down to signal when it was time to go. Decent people with money had been her conclusion, and she felt that was a hard combination to find. Through tidbits here and there, she'd learned enough of Jack's story to know his parents were both dead, and he had no real family. It had become her mission to make them feel at home whenever they came in.

The meal had been great, and the wine even better. Juan had brought his wife; a leggie blonde that might have been mistaken for the classic stereotype until you talked to her for more than two minutes. She had a quick mind and subtle sense of humor that would easily leave the best of the best in the lurch if she decided they deserved it. Mary was far from the bumbling, dumb blonde.

"Juan's Mexican; they're pushovers for the rubias," Jack had said.

"Naw, Juan was in search of intelligent life after hanging out with you for so many years," had been her quick response.

The table had been the same one he and Lisa had used so many times before, but oddly enough, there were no soulful glances or reverent touches as he guided her into the booth beside him, no reminiscing or tearful eyes. There was only a quiet meal with another couple that capped a week of triumphs as Juan explained the Big Two were a 'done deal'. Corporate lawyers would have the paperwork hammered out for review over the Christmas holidays with an anticipated signing on the day Jack had promised to return to the office.

Mary had raised her wine and locked eyes with Jack to toast his return to 'real life' and, as a side bar, to his miraculous escape from the armrests of his wheelchair. It seemed the most important point to her was that he was out and about with or without his 'wheels'.

As they let them out at the apartment building, Mary had grabbed Jan's arm and said, "You do realize the invitation to our house for Thanksgiving tomorrow was not a casual afterthought? We will expect you two around noon." Mary's furtive glance at Jack, who was standing outside the door talking quietly to Juan, said the invitation was meant to make sure he continued to get out and about and didn't find an excuse for a quick retreat.

"We'll be there, count on it."

Now, lying in the arms of this complex man, listening to his breathing slow and deep, Jan felt sated and content. There had been a brief moment when it dawned on her that they needed to plan for Friday - to decide what to do, how to handle it. Jack's finger on her lips and the quiet shushing had been all she needed to leave it all behind for the time being. There was entirely too much to live for and enjoy at this moment to mire it down with talk of deceit and revenge.

"Stay with me, Jack," Jan whispered.

Sleepily rolling on his side, he draped an arm around her and pulled her close as if in response but continued to sleep.

"Keep me safe," she whispered, softer this time and was surprised when he whispered back.



The Sentinel Ch. 14



There was no wake-up call in a flea bag like this, but Scott rolled out early to get 'in uniform' as he called it. Donning his rumpled trench coat, he grabbed a coffee and donut at a 7-11 on the corner. Even Thanksgiving Day held captive its share of employees, he thought. Another block and he found a pay phone on the relatively deserted street. Of course, that wouldn't last long as people showed up to enjoy the parade - a Macy's tradition adopted by New York and the rest of the world.

He made a call to 'Bruno' to give his phone number, and an hour later, he was in a stretch limo headed across the bridge to Jersey. He'd been to the house only once before, shortly after signing on with his silent partners, and it surprised him just as much today as then when the limo stopped in front of a large, middle-class house, immaculate with a lawn that most green keepers would envy.

It was a large, yellow sandstone affair that looked big, but not gaudy, and fit in well with the other houses on the street. It was the mob's new low-key look, a long way from the gaudy mansions surrounded by goons that had been the style twenty years ago. Even more impressive was the feeling of family and a Thanksgiving Day feast headed up by one of the country's top Don's.

But business was business, and after the meal as the family gathered in the T.V. room to visit and chat, Scott found himself in a private study that reflected all the pretentiousness and gaudiness that had been shed on the outside.

"So, Scott, how goes business?"

With that, Scott felt the pull of the leash and settled in with his brandy and cigar to make small talk concerning big things. 

*****

Jan and Jack sat at the table surrounded by Juan, Mary, Juan's sisters and his parents. The food was wonderful, and the company better.

The men had passed the morning, yelling at the wide-screen T.V. and arguing with each other over their choices on exactly who would be the winner and backed up their teams by placing hundred dollar bills in a bowl on the coffee table. Meanwhile Juan's sisters kept Jan cornered in the kitchen, pumping her for information.

All was in fun and meant to make her feel more welcome and lighten the task of creating a Thanksgiving feast. The big topic was how she managed to 'trap their Jack'.

"Trap Jack?" Jan asked with the innocence of a high school girl on her first date. "From everything Jack has told me about you three, I thought you knew him better than that."

The red faces and a high five from the youngest of the three told Jan her response had been more than adequate as they headed in to call the men to the table.

Jack and Jan were seated with Juan at the head of the table, and he raised his glass to toast the return of his friend to life among the living. "To Jack. Welcome back. And to Jan. May God make her as intelligent as she is beautiful so she will come to her senses and abandon this pinche gringo and find a real man."

The laughter was subdued but heartfelt as glasses clinked to declarations of "Salud!"

Jan prayed her own silent prayer during grace that Jack's stay among the living would be long lived.

*****

Dave sat on his hotel room bed, watching the game; his laptop was off to the side, logged into a chat room with very little 'traffic' to speak of. It was something he'd grown accustomed to. No family meant holidays alone - something that suited him it seemed.

Jan hadn't answered his calls to her cell phone. It seemed to be turned off, and the bitch at Pond Enterprises was more than happy to relay a message. At last, he'd sent an e-mail to her explaining there was a package that seemed to be urgent and that he'd taken it upon himself to send it to her. He was surprised when the messenger service had notified him that she couldn't be located at the address given. He'd asked for a forwarding address, and was waiting patiently for a response.

A light knock on his room door told him his Thanksgiving meal had arrived. Hitting mute on the T.V. before closing the lid on his laptop, he grabbed a robe from the bathroom, not bothering to tie it closed in front, and pulled the door open to find a serving cart pushed by a young Hispanic girl.

Giggling slightly when she realized the guest's robe was open and he was naked underneath, she exclaimed, "I have your meal, Sir. Where should I put it?"

Waving her in, he watched the young woman's ass as she pushed the cart over to the worktable beside the window. Maybe I won't spend Thanksgiving alone after all, he thought. Walking to his dresser, he picked up a wad of bills and flashed them as he watched her transfer the covered dishes from the white, linen-covered pushcart to his room table. When she turned with the check in hand and giggled again at his open robe, he made a show of looking down at her point of focus. Reaching down with one hand, he made a feeble attempt to cover himself before walking to the table to sign the check. "Sorry about that," he said as he leaned over the table, letting his robe fall open again and making no attempt to close it. Peeling off a hundred dollar bill, he pushed it in her hand, letting his fingers linger as they rubbed across her palm before holding the tips of her fingers in his and stating shyly, "It's a shame you have to work. We could keep each other company."

Her coffee and cream-colored skin darkened a little, and she looked at the huge tip in one hand and the wad of bills in his other hand before responding, "Actually, you're my last delivery. Not many guests are eating in today."

Releasing her fingers, Dave walked to the door and watched a smile play across her face as he pushed the room door closed, locking it firmly. Yes, he thought, money could get him just about anything he wanted.

*****

Linda's day was not your typical Thanksgiving celebration. Sitting in one of ICB's pool cars, slouched down, and listening to the police radio, she waited quietly with a member of the SWAT team that had been assigned to make the actual bust. Even though the 'date' was four hours away, they had decided to take up positions early so that the street would remain quiet, as one expected it to be on a national holiday like today, and await their target.

There were four cars at different points around the seedy motel and a white delivery van with caterer's markings in the alley. The van had six officers: two women and four men, including the officer-in-charge, sitting half-asleep as they waited, patiently, for notification that the 'target' had arrived.

*****

Sara Waters had delivered excuses to her family back east. Now, she walked around her bedroom in thigh highs, panties, and a bra, packing a small overnight bag with the usual items that would be used on an afternoon such as this: a change of underwear; stockings to match; a few condoms that she didn't plan on needing; the whip that John seemed to loath, but she knew he secretly loved; and the spike-heeled boots that should put the whole thing into play.

There was no place to hide a 'wire' on her body with what she expected to be wearing when things went down. So she had opted for a small silver handbag provided by the SWAT team with a false bottom that hid a one-way transmitter and microphone, brought to life by turning the clasp to the right instead of the left.

Pulling a vibrant, blue silk, front- buttoned dress from her closet, she slipped it on and buttoned from her bust to just below her crotch, letting the bottom fall open around her ankles seductively when she sat or walked. Grabbing her silver purse, leather overnight bag, and spiked, open-toed shoes, she was out the door.

Calling the Captain from her cell phone, she let him know she was on her way. She ended the conversation and got onto the freeway. Yes, she thought, as her car merged into traffic and she stole a last glance at herself in the rearview mirror, I can do this. He hasn't got a chance.

*****

John walked or maybe, it was more of a stagger, to his car and threw his gym bag behind the front seat, making a mental note to start shopping for something a little sportier than the family sedan. Besides, the front looked like crap since hitting the back of Marge's minivan.

Starting early, he had made sure his bourbon bottle didn't feel neglected today either, by finishing half the bottle as he prepared to teach that bitch a lesson. Turning the CD player on, he settled in to contemplate the upcoming events. Should he enjoy her body first, fucking her brains out and leaving her panting for more as he shoved the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger?

He knew she would bring the whip. Maybe, he should take the whip and beat her until she begged him to put her out of her misery.

But the foggy thought that he needed to spend as little time as possible in the room kept floating around his mind. Even through the bourbon, his investigative training reminded him that Forensics could catch him with just a pubic hair or slight leakage of body fluid.

*****

Linda sat up a little straighter and inspected the compact car pulling into the lot when she heard the Captain announce Sara's arrival over the radio. Stopping the car in front of the registration desk, a well-built black woman got out, walked around the car, and disappeared inside, only to return a few minutes later and drive her car farther down the building, stopping about halfway.

Linda knew this was wrong. She knew without a doubt they were barking up the wrong tree, but circumstances and events prevented her from forcing the issue. How could she explain it? It would mean the end to all that had become her life. 

She watched Sara getting out of the car again; this time with what appeared to be a leather overnight bag. Turning to lock her car before walking to the room door, she paused long enough to run her access card through the lock before disappearing inside.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that Sara was 30 minutes early as planned. Registered under the name Ms. Susie Smith, she had left a message at the desk that she was waiting for a Mr. Smith. The pimple-faced teen, stuck with holiday duty, paid little attention to any of it as he watched her walk away from the desk and back to her car. Mr. Smith, my ass, he thought, as he pulled his Playboy out from under the counter and found himself substituting Ms. Smith on all the models' faces.

Sara pulled her cell phone out and called the Captain. "I'm in," she said, "room 132".

As the Captain passed the information on to the team, she went into the bathroom and unbuttoned her dress, hanging it neatly on the clothes rack provided by most motels. Pulling back the zipper on the overnight bag, she withdrew the boots and threw them in the middle of the bed. Taking the whip, she kept it in her hand as she stowed the bag above her dress on the clothes rack and carried her purse to the nightstand beside the bed, turning the latch to the right before walking away.

Slapping the whip against the palm of her other hand, she walked to the full-length mirror and took a pose to see if she projected the image she wanted. She knew John was expected to show up with a loaded gun, and the whip was really her only line of defense. She had worked her way around many aggressive men before while she was still dancing but never one she had purposefully provoked into what she hoped would be a killing rage.

Satisfied, she walked back to her purse and pulled her phone out for one last call. Without holding the phone to her head, she stated clearly in a normal voice, "All set. How do you read me?"

Putting the phone to her ear, the Captain simply said, "We read you fine, Sara," before clicking off. Closing her phone and dropping it in her purse, she sat on the end of the bed to wait.

Linda hunkered down this time as the Captain announced over the police radio that the 'target' had arrived. Glancing across the SWAT officer beside her, they both peeked out the side window as a family sedan with damage to the front rolled to a stop at registration.

John seemed to stagger a little as he walked around the car, leaning on the hood for support before disappearing into the same door Sara had gone through about 20 minutes earlier.

Linda took note of his state and decided he was well on his way to the end of a bottle. She watched as he came back out and drove down the row of cars to park close to the exit before getting out and fishing a gym bag from behind the front seat.

Picking up the microphone, she thought, it might be a good idea to pass the information along concerning John's condition. Clicking the microphone, she said simply, "Suspect out of the car and appears to be drunk".

Sara heard the click of the door release and stood to face it. With the whip in hand and her hand on her hip, she put on her best 'who the hell are you' look as sunlight shot across the floor from the opening door.

John hesitated a second before pushing the door open as if surprised the access card had worked at all. Stepping inside, his alcohol-soaked brain was confronted with two things that seemed to be a little more than he could handle.

The first thing to register was the beauty of the black woman, standing in front of him, feet spread to shoulder-width, wearing pearl white thigh highs, blue thong, and bra. John had had no idea just how beautiful she really was; the cam simply didn't do her justice.

Fumbling a little, he pushed the door closed behind him just as Linda announced on the police radio, "He's inside."

The SWAT officer turned up a handheld radio on the seat between them, and they could suddenly hear Sara talking quietly to John.

John now registered the whip in suzi-q-zi's hand where it rested on her hip and stopped in his tracks before throwing his gym bag on the bed. Finally, the black spiked-boots registered, and he could feel himself getting hard.

Oh, yeah, he thought. I have to have me some of that before I show her who the real boss is.

Sara walked up to him and played the whip lightly across his crotch.

Linda and the SWAT officer listened as she asked John coyly, "Is that a gun ya got there, or are you just happy to see your big, black momma?"

John's forehead was sweating by now as he realized she was, in fact, big - not heavy, but tall. It was something you really couldn't tell on cam when you only saw the other person alone with no point of reference for comparing how tall they might be beside someone else. With the spiked-heels on, he found he actually had to look up into her eyes.

Tentatively, he put a hand on her bare waist above her hips and almost lost it as she leaned closer to kiss his cheek. Her breasts were pressing into his chest, and his now, fully hard cock, strained against his pants to nestle into her crotch.

First, the SWAT team heard him clear his throat then say, "I am very happy to see you, suzi-q-zi". They heard a few wet, sucking sounds, and they guessed a little get-to-know-you kiss was underway.

Stepping back, Sara turned on her heel and walked away from John toward the bathroom. John was transfixed by the sight of the blue thong as it disappeared between the cheeks of her ass. The bra strap was small enough to be an afterthought; it gave the impression she was naked except for thigh highs and heels.

Turning at the corner of the bed, she stepped up beside the boots and shoved his gym bag off onto the opposite side with the whip. If he has a gun, that's probably where it is, she thought, and I want it as far away from me as possible. Looking up at John, face downcast slightly, she pouted and pointed at the boots with her whip.

The idea was to provoke John into brandishing the weapon. Hopefully, she could get him naked first, in an effort to limit any escape; then give the signal for the SWAT team which was 'what a big gun you have, John'. They hoped using his real name would confuse him and buy them a few seconds as they got through the door.

Up to this point, they had not divulged much real personal information to the other, and she wanted to keep it that way awhile longer.

John hesitated only a second before walking to the edge of the bed to reach for the boots. The SWAT team could only hear rustling and shuffling. Reaching for the boots, Sara whispered, "Wait, don't you think you're a little overdressed, stud?"

John hesitated until he saw her drop the whip on the bed and reach for the clasp at the front of her bra. A slight click and she stood holding the cups in place waiting for him to comply.

John's foggy mind kept saying this wasn't what he'd planned. It kept screaming that he was supposed to be in control even as his hands went to the buttons on the front of his shirt. Even as his pants pooled around his ankles beside his shirt and belt, something inside told him to leap across the bed and show her who the boss really was.

Hooking his thumbs in his briefs, he stopped and looked across at Sara, dropping his eyes to her hand-covered breasts and waited like a school kid playing 'you show me yours, and I'll show you mine'. He actually held his breath as she did, pulling her hands away along with the cups of her bra. A breathy, "Oh, my God," escaped his lips as she shrugged the bra off and it fell to the floor.

A chorus of snickers rippled through the parked cars and van as they listened to John's exclamation of awe and wonder. But it was stifled as quickly as it started as they monitored the radio signal coming from the purse on the nightstand.

John hooked his thumbs a little deeper and pushed as the elastic in his waist band, straining against his full erection. Letting them drop past his knees, he kicked the accumulation of clothing around his ankles away from the bed.

"My, my, aren't you just full of yourself today?" Sara teased as she slid onto her side of the bed, knees together, and pointed her feet at the boots.

John followed suit, but he sat first to pull his socks off before swinging his feet onto the bed and kneeling at Sara's feet with the boots to one side.

There was another ripple of restrained laughter as the SWAT team heard the rustling bed covers and a bed spring squeak, suggesting just what John might be full of.

Sara wanted complete control; she wanted to be sure she had his full attention before she became the 'black bitch' he really wanted to kill. Flicking the boots with the whip and looking at her feet, she waited.

John's fingers actually shook a little as sweat ran down the side of his face, and he concentrated on undoing the ankle straps of both Sara's shoes before pulling them off, letting them drop beside the bed. But he didn't stop there as one hand slid up the inside of her leg and past her knee to rest on the bare skin just above her thigh highs.

Sara panicked a moment as she realized she may not have the control she needed yet. Looking at John, she watched his eyes wander from one erect nipple to the other before moving down her stomach to stop at her crotch where a small triangle of blue silk kept him transfixed.

In her best 'little girl' submissive voice, she asked with a slight tremble that was as real as it was pretend, "Don't you want my boots on me first?"

The tone of her voice was enough to stop all the snickers throughout the SWAT team and their ears listened intently to their radios.

Pulling his eyes away from the blue silk, John looked to the side at the boots before looking back at the blue triangle. Something in his mind pleaded with him to just 'do it your way'. Some animal instinct told him to rip the small blue triangle away and take her - pull her up on all four and take her from behind as she cried and begged him to stop.

The Captain decided there was little chance John would come out of the room, look or pull the curtain back, and gave the signal for all units to converge slowly on the shabby, yellow door with '132' nailed at eye level. The SWAT officers opened the side door of the van and quickly crept around the building, forming two groups, each a room's distance away from each side of the door. 




The Sentinel Ch. 14



Linda and her partner slipped out of the pool car and moved across the street to crouch behind Sara's car, awaiting the signal. The SWAT officer she was with would lead the attack on the door and carried a three-foot battering ram to get the job done. While his hand was cupped over his radio earpiece, he maintained eye contact with Linda so he could signal when it was time to move in.

Sara watched as John seemed to struggle with some decision he had to make before he reached over and picked up a boot. Lifting her foot with one hand, he slipped it on and slowly pushed the zipper up, letting his hand linger a second on the inside of her knee before turning to get the other.

Glancing down at John's body, Sara could see she still had his full attention as a full erection bounced around between his thighs. Lifting her other foot as if guiding John, she felt the warmth of his palm through the heel of the thigh-high boot as he guided the second boot on. Even through the heel of the thigh high, she could feel the sweat on his palm.

Both boots on and zipped, John's hands moved up the inside of her thighs again. Just before reaching their destination, Sara gave a light tap on both hands and asked sternly "Where the hell do you think you're going, asshole?"

John froze and Sara knew this would be the moment of truth. She had to take the high ground and quickly. Before he could respond, she brushed his hands out of the way, and slid off the bed to stand at the edge again towering over him.

Bringing down the whip on his bare ass, she cackled and chided, "Why look at your old, skinny, white ass. Hell, where's that black stud that was fuckin' your old lady?"

John exploded in fury as he reached for the blue triangle, hooking a finger in the top and tearing it away. Sara stayed calm as she took one step back and lashed out at John's back again. "And what ya think ya gonna do now? I don't see anything around here but that silly little pea shooter of yours."

John shook with anger as he stared at the blue thong in his fist. Rolling away from her onto the floor beside the bed where she'd pushed the gym bag earlier, he scrambled on all fours to the corner, flailing his arms to try and retrieve it.

The SWAT team tensed as they listened to her chiding remarks and the snap of the whip on bare skin. Sara had told the Captain not to come in until they heard the trigger phrase, pointing out that a naked man and a whip were both something she was more than prepared to handle. 

"Now what ya gonna do you, limp-dicked, cracker? Run?"

The rage rushed through John's body as he fumbled around on the floor with the gym bag, trying to pull the zipper back. This wasn't right. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Suddenly, the whip was on his backside again, and he looked up to find suzi-q-zi towering over him, feet planted firmly, hands on her hips, looking down on him in disgust like a disappointed mother chastising her six-year-old. The sight of her small pubic strip drew his eyes like a magnet as the whip lashed across his back once again, feeding the rage to the point his vision narrowed. With one hand still on her hip, her eyes softened, slightly, before snapping the whip on his rump again, playfully this time.

Her voice softened as well as she continued the game, maintaining his rage but wanting to ease the edge enough to keep him under control. "I want you. I want you to take me now."

His hand stopped at the top of the gym bag as he gazed along her body; her breasts rose and fell slowly as she towered over him watching. Her dark swollen nipples were hypnotic as he took in the movement.

John's mind locked as it tried to deal with the situation. She was so beautiful, a goddess. He wanted her, but part of him wanted her on his terms. Letting his hand drop deeper in the bag, he could feel the cold steel of the gun as his fingers brushed against it. He felt a calm fall over him as his fingers caressed the weapon's grip. A sense of purpose came over him, and he watched as she turned away. Her naked ass rocked, and she moved back around the bed to the other side, standing again with the whip on her hip.

Pulling the gun out of the bag, he pushed himself up from the floor and turned, letting it dangle at his side as his gaze swept over her body, once more, before he performed the ultimate act of intimacy. Yes, he would show this black bitch the true meaning of control. 

This was the moment. This had been their objective, and Sara steeled herself to deliver her line. Snaking her free hand across the front of her body, she let her finger slide down across her pubic strip and press in lightly. She still had control as she watched his eyes follow the light dancing of her finger tip. 

"And what do you plan on doing with that gun, John?" Her voice was low and seductive as John let his mind wander across what she'd just said. While he was beginning to realize his name had been spoken and to wonder how she knew it, the door burst open, and the room filled with black-suited SWAT officers.

Sara watched as if it were playing out in slow motion. Turning away from the door, John's face contorted into an expression of anger and betrayal while his cock still bounced around in front of him. The cartoon in her head said he was the director, orchestrating this masterpiece and that was his baton. She noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead before following his moving arm down toward the gun as he raised it to point at her. She saw the detail of his thumb as it pulled the hammer back, cocking the weapon to be fired. Suddenly, a body with long, black hair tackled her from the side, knocking her down and into the wall behind the nightstand beside the bed.

The room had been a caldron of noise and confusion with no one phrase or word distinguishable, almost as if the noise itself were a blanket of lumpy silence. The loud report of two pistols firing in such close confines, both deafened her and brought the action back up to speed as she looked over and saw her boss, Linda Woo, crumpled across her naked body, covered in blood.



The Sentinel Ch. 15



Jack was in the shower when Jan burst in. "You have to see this, Jack," was all she said before running back out. He found her standing in front of the T.V., remote in hand, flipping between CNN and FOX News, and finally settling on CNN.

"…yesterday at a motel on the outskirts of Los Angeles. ICB Captain Michael Aldridge confirmed that a suspect in the 'On-screen Killings' was shot and killed. Also shot during the operation was ICB director Linda Woo who headed up the two year investigation. Ms. Woo is currently in intensive care being treated for a gunshot wound to the neck.

No information has been released concerning the suspect or what led officers to him other than confirmation that he was armed at the time and that the gun he had has been linked to the most recent on-screen killing."

Jack stared at the picture of Linda Woo on the screen as Jan whispered, "That's her, Jack. That's 'cyber' Lisa." The T.V. droned on as the commentator mentioned the real Lisa, his Lisa, as the first victim who started the bizarre string of computer chat-related killings, listing all the victims along with a date and place.

*****

Scott sat transfixed, listening to the hyperbole of FOX News as they recounted the information that had been released concerning the killings. Reference to a bloody, gun battle and an injured officer, along with the apparent death of the 'On-screen Killer', brought a slow, cynical smile to his lips.

The old man at the front desk asked, as if an afterthought, if the rumpled-looking man had had a pleasant Thanksgiving. Sure did, thought Scott to himself, as he shoved a wad of bills across the counter to pay his bill.

"Better than some," was all he said as he pushed the creaking, revolving door open to find a cab.

*****

The Captain strode past the nurses' station, paying no attention to the whispered pleas of the staff, admonishing him back to the waiting area. "Sir! Sir! You're not supposed to be in here. You have to wait outside." The petite redhead took two steps to the Captain's one, almost running to keep up.

"That's my officer hooked up to your machines, and I saw her doctor come in."

Giving up, Vicky Conner dropped in behind the man and followed to make sure the doctor was, in fact, with the patient. Maybe he can throw this guy out.

The room was dark with glass for walls on three sides and a wall of electronic equipment where the window should have been. Linda lay in a hospital bed, chest and head elevated slightly, eyes closed as the squeaky hiss of a respirator marked her breathing.

Tubes and wires fell from the wall of equipment like branches of a willow tree, ending at different points along her body. A stat cart for cardiac arrest recovery sat menacingly at the head of the bed. The steady beep of her cardiac monitor was like a sentinel of fate as it marked the slow, steady beat of her heart.

A short, bald man that looked to be in his seventies stood at the foot of her bed, holding a clipboard, flipping through pages of notations made by the staff during Linda's short stay. Glancing up as the captain strode into the room, the doctor looked past him at Vicky as she followed close behind.

"I tried to stop him …"

"It's okay, Vicky. And you must be Captain Aldridge." 

Holding out his hand, the captain stepped up and asked how Linda was.

"She's a very, lucky, young lady, considering she took a bullet to the neck; it nicked her right carotid artery before entering the esophagus just below her vocal cords. Her vitals are strong, and she's out of immediate danger."

Glancing at Linda's sleeping form, the Captain asked when she'd be moved out of intensive care. 

"Probably tomorrow, I should think. It actually looks worse than it really is. We will be calling in a specialist to tell us if she has any damage to her vocal cords, but fortunately, the bullet wasn't a hollow point and didn't break up." Reaching over, he took Linda's wrist between his thumb and two fingers, not really trusting today's high tech to keep an eye on his patients. "She'll be uncomfortable for a few weeks and should be able to leave in three or four more days, but I doubt she'll be back at work or giving acceptance speeches for at least six weeks." Bedside levity from a weathered pro, the Captain thought.

Walking to the side of the bed nearest the door, the Captain reached out and gently touched Linda's exposed forearm. Warm and dry. Looking up at the doctor, he pulled a business card from an inside coat pocket and quickly wrote a number on the back. "That's my home number in case you don't find me at the office. I'd sure appreciate it if you'd call me if anything happens."

"Sure, captain. I'll leave this with her chart and a note to call you after they call me."

"Thanks, doctor." With that, the Captain strode out just as quickly as he'd entered. Noticing Linda's parents had returned from the cafeteria, he stopped to let them know the doctor was in. As he waited at the elevator, watching them push through the ICU doors, he played back the movie in his head once more as Linda crashed into Sara, pushing her away from the pointing gun. Linda's expression flashed back stern and argumentative as her words came to life once more, and she yelled.

"It's not him!"

*****

The Sentinel dreamed of being lost, accusing fingers and shattering glass. A nagging question returned again and again to probe and admonish. 'Have I lost' turned into a mantra, chanted by a gathering crowd as they looked on and laughed.

Then the falling started - a sense of imminent danger somehow subdued or muffled by a false sense of calm. The choking started as the Sentinel struggled to breathe, watching the earth rush up to make it all go away.

Not yet, dreamed the Sentinel. Not yet.

*****

In light of current events, they had decided to return to Jack's place to investigate further and determine where to go from here. Jack decided to let his driver enjoy his day off and found the control for his van. Pushing a button marked 'Find Me', 

he placed the control on a window ledge that looked out on the street over the front entrance and waited. Thirty minutes later, they were throwing their bags in the back of the van as it waited, obediently, in front of the building.

The drive back was quiet as both of them contemplated the significance of yesterday's events - not just on an individual basis but as a couple. 

Jan walked out onto the terrace and glanced past the open curtain of Jack's computer room. She found him sitting in his wheelchair, staring at the dark computer screens. Sliding the door open, she stepped up behind, resting her hands on his shoulders. She waited quietly, knowing he would speak when he was ready.

Leaning back into her body, nestling his head against her stomach, he reached up to touch her arm, a light caress before dropping his hand on top of hers, resting on his shoulder.

"Is it over, Jan?" he asked.

Leaning over, she kissed the top of his head lightly before responding. "I think it is, Jack."

Moving around him, she took his hand and pulled Jack up from the wheelchair. Gently, but with determination, she pulled him away from the cold, dark computers and out onto the terrace. Stopping, she stepped close and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Yes, Jack, it's over."

Pulling her closer, he buried his head against her neck and sobbed quietly. Bringing his arms up, he swayed gently, pulling her with him as her own tears started.

A chilly breeze from the river rustled the curtains in the open door of the computer room and seemed to swirl around them for a few seconds as if participating in their gentle embrace before moving on.

Sensing a subtle change, an emptiness, Jack stooped, scooping Jan into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom. She watched his eyes silently as he placed her on top of the covers. Turning to the fireplace, he placed another log on the fire before turning the bedroom lights out.

Jan patted the mattress at her side, calling Jack to join her, or more importantly, offering Jack a place to be. They fell asleep, fully-clothed, on top of the covers to the quiet crackle of the fireplace. 



The Sentinel Ch. 16



Over the weekend following Thanksgiving Jack and Jan had watched the news closely as 'cyber' Lisa failed to appear in chat and Jan's mails went unanswered. They were both shocked to learn the identity of the 'On-screen Killer', and Jack harbored a resentment he couldn't quite identify, not wanting to acknowledge his disappointment in not being the person who pulled the trigger.

They seemed to flounder as the common goal that had consumed much of their shared thoughts and moments was taken away. Monday morning found them both in an awkward embrace at the airport as they said goodbye, confirming their Christmas date.

The previous evening they had dined with Juan and Mary amidst subdued joviality and gentle teasing from both. "Miami?" asked Juan. "What's in Miami? This is New York - the center of the universe," he exclaimed.

Seeing no response from Jan, Mary gave it a try. "Jack," her quiet voice, drawing the attention of all three, "You lost someone very dear to you once, and she is gone now. Don't make that same mistake again."

The rest of the meal was moody and bleak, and saying goodbye when the limo dropped them off at Jack's was more a feeling of relief than the feeling of a warm friendship.

They lay in bed that night, holding each other and talking quietly. Jan ventured the thought that maybe Lisa's death was fate - meant to be whether by the hands of the killer or at the wheel of a car. Maybe God's plan was more complex, and Lisa had been an angelic messenger.

Jack smiled and brightened as he pulled Jan close, kissing the side of her neck. "Maybe you're right," he whispered. They talked more and made love one last time. Jack pointed out he should be assisting Juan with the upcoming deal, and Jan admitted she did need to get back to the office to see how Christmas buying was shaping up.

"Look at me, Jan." Cupping the side of her face, Jack searched her eyes before continuing. "I love you. I know it now. But I need a little time. What do you have planned for Christmas?"

Jan snuggled in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Christmas day with my parents, Jack." Seeing his disappointment, she quickly added, "But I bet they'd love to meet you."

Sealed with a kiss, they made plans for Jack to fly down on the 23rd for Christmas with her family.

"Listen you," Jan teased, pulling Jack closer at the terminal entrance. "I don't want to hear anything about last minute meetings. There are more important things in life than multi-million dollar business deals, you know. I will be waiting for you at the airport and I do not want to be disappointed."

Jack smiled and kissed Jan one last time, yelling at her back as she walked away, "I'll think about it." Jan turned at the x-ray machine to return his mischievous smile.

*****

It was a small news item - not really front page material - concerning one Juanita Lopez, a maid at one of the five star hotels in midtown Manhattan. She was found beaten and bleeding behind the hotel she worked at early Friday morning, following her shift Thanksgiving Day. Although injured, she would recover and seemed foggy on details concerning what happened. The doctor told the reporter he thought it was shock-induced amnesia and might pass with time. Fortunately, there was no sign of sexual penetration, and the attack appeared to be the result of rage.

By Monday, she reported back to work after stopping at the bank to make a five thousand dollar cash deposit, and she was sure her memories of that particular Thanksgiving Day would never return.

Dave sat at his post and watched Jan walk through the reception area toward the elevators that were working once again. "Hi Dave. How was your Thanksgiving?"

He noticed how relaxed she looked and her smile that was so much more than a beautiful, sunny day. Putting his anger aside, he told her it had been great, and he'd actually taken some time off to visit friends.

Turning before getting on the elevator, Jan asked about the package. "What package?" Dave asked, having forgotten completely about his ruse while in New York trying to locate her. Her expression brought it back, and he scrambled to recover. "You didn't get it? I know the messenger service got in touch with me and couldn't find you. I sent that e-mail to you and didn't get an answer. I just figured you got the package. I'll check today and see what I can find out."

Damn, he thought, as she disappeared behind the brass-covered, art deco doors of the elevator. What the hell did she have to go to New York with that asshole Jack Pond for anyway?

*****

Scott methodically returned the badge, identification, and gun to their hiding places in his desk and the safe. Taking the old tattered suitcase from the corner where he'd left it upon arriving; he walked out through the kitchen to the deck where he sat it on a patio table beside the gas grill. Starting the grill, he methodically pulled the clothing out of the suitcase, one piece at a time, and placed them over the flames, poking and prodding to be sure every thread was completely destroyed.

Turning the gas off, he pulled the ashtray out and collected what remained of zippers and buttons in a plastic bag which he stuffed into the trash compactor in the kitchen before pressing the 'Compress' button.

An interesting turn of events he thought. Smiling, he carried the suitcase back to the closet within a closet, locking it away until needed again.

A slight smile played across his lips as he sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee and making plans.

*****

Linda watched the Captain shift on his feet as he stood at her bed side. She was glad for the distraction but not too pleased with the Captains insistence concerning her declaration just before being shot. She shifted slightly under the sheet and feigned fatigue. Fortunately, she was under strict orders not to use her voice, and the cables and wires still connected to her body made it awkward to raise her hands high enough to use her bed table as a desk and write any answers.

"Okay, Woo. Have it your way, but you better believe me when I tell you that being a hero and saving a fellow agent will not get you off the hook. I still want to know what you were doing in New York, buying an illegal firearm, and I also want to know what the hell you meant just before you were shot."

The Captain, turning to look out the window caught her reflection in the glass; he noticed the slight rolling of her eyes and an uncomfortable shift in the bed in response to his interrogation. Turning back and poised to begin again, he was interrupted by the nurse who strode in, sending him off. It seemed that it was time for her meds and her morning shower.

Linda rolled her head on the pillow to stare out the window as the nurse fussed with her chart. "You'll be going home tomorrow if things continue as they are."

Stepping to the side of the bed, the nurse helped Linda stand and daintily pulled the ties on the back of her hospital gown free before pushing it off her shoulders, being sure it didn't tangle in the IV drip.

Shuffling like a senior citizen, Linda leaned on the nurse as they moved toward the bathroom and shower. She avoided the mirror as she stepped under the warm water, luxuriating in the soft, clean smell of soap on her skin again. The nurse stood at the door and watched, in case she might fall, and Linda felt her body slowly come back to life as she washed away what seemed like a months' worth of grime. It was truly amazing what feeling clean could do for your health.

Shutting off the water, she stepped out of the stall and stood in front of the sink, staring at her image in the mirror. An incision ran from under her ear on the right side, down and across her neck. The skin rolled in at the point of contact and ugly, black thread crisscrossed, holding it together. "Don't worry, dear. The plastic surgeon will make that all but disappear later."

Inspecting the green and yellow bruises on her shoulder - the point of impact with Sara - she had a flashback of John, raising the gun again, pointing it at Sara's naked body. She could smell the musty bed and see her captain looking over the shoulder of a SWAT officer who was taking aim at John. Not now, she thought. Let's leave it alone.

Opting to sit in her chair awhile instead of being stuck in bed all day, Linda was surprised when Tom tapped lightly on her door. "A penny for your thoughts, Slick."

For the only person that could make her smile, she responded with a small one and tapped the arm of her chair, motioning him to sit beside her.

"Yeah, we've had so many complaints from the hospital staff that you won't shut up, I thought I'd come over and see if I could help out."

Leaning into his hip, Linda's smile broadened. Pointing at the laptop case he'd brought, she looked up, questioningly. Unzipping the case, Tom pulled out her office laptop and set it carefully on her thighs.

"Thought you might find it easier to 'talk' with this rather than pen and paper."

That brought another smile. Turning the computer on and going through the log in procedure, she opened a Word document and set the font size to 18 so it could be easily read from a distance. Shifting around beside Tom, she typed, Hey there, worthless. They still let you work over there?

"Oh, yeah, you know that place would go to hell in a hand basket without me."

Tell me what's going on, Linda typed.

"Well, it seems they've confirmed that the gun John had at the motel was a match with the gun used to kill his wife. They also found where he had it hidden in the basement. Checking dates, they've discovered he had 'access' to all the other killings, and that's pretty much a wrap." Tom watched closely for Linda's response.

She knew it wasn't true. How could they be so blind? Shifting a little in the chair so Tom couldn't see what was being typed, she finally shifted the laptop so he could read the screen. He's not the killer. I know he's not. Besides, the gun was not the same type used in the other murders.

Tom waited a beat before responding. He'd read the reports from Thanksgiving Day, and the captain wasn't the only one that had heard her declaration. Not pursuing the whole thing would be so much easier because he feared that the truth might be much worse than current accepted reality. It would be simple to let John take the fall and see if he could help Linda get through this. Surely, he was wrong, and he felt bad for what he was thinking.

Rubbing between her shoulder blades and offering a wide smile, he said, "Who knows, Linda; let's not worry about the office right now. You'll be tied to your desk soon enough." Standing up, he walked to her bed to sit on the edge, facing the chair she was seated in before continuing. "I talked to your parents and told them I would come by and take you to their house tomorrow. Seems they're going to let you blow this joint."

Linda typed furiously and turned the computer. No, Tom, I don't want to go there. I can take care of myself, and besides, I'll rest better at my home. You can take me there if you want.

Not surprised, Tom responded with, "Okay, Slick, but your parents will be pretty disappointed. I hear they have a sign language teacher all lined up."

The talk turned to Tom's family and their Thanksgiving Day meal with a mention of Sara and how she was dealing with her close call at the motel. There were other bits and pieces of idle chitchat as Tom watched Linda closely trying to make a decision.

"Well, Slick, some of us still have to work for a living." Turning to leave, he stopped and pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket, dropping it on top of her laptop keyboard before turning to leave again. Pausing at the door, he looked back at the small, pale creature in the chair, balancing her laptop on her knees. 

"That's a name I left off the short list. Thought you might want to see it." With that, he was gone.

Picking up the paper, Linda unfolded it and stared at the name above the list of 40 different chat ID's. Obviously a prime suspect, she thought, cynically. Rumpling the sheet of paper into a tight wad, she fished around for her computer case at the side of her chair and dropped it inside. It seems that Linda Woo had, in fact, made the short list after all.



The Sentinel Ch. 17



Juan leaned back in the chair behind his desk and listened as the man continued with his report, giving times, dates, and activities. Glancing at his copy of the report, he followed along, waiting for the man to finish.

Closing the folder in his lap, the man leaned back in his chair to await further instructions.

Walking over to the window of his corner office, Juan looked out across midtown Manhattan and contemplated what to do. If he believed everything he'd heard in the news, the killer had been found and killed. He reflected on Jack's current demeanor. It just didn't feel right. With a sigh, he walked to his desk and pulled a white envelope, fat with money, out of a desk drawer and slid it across the desk where the man picked it up and slipped it in his pocket.

"This isn't finished yet. I'm paying for a service, and I expect it to be finished."

With that, the man rose and turned on his heels, exiting through Juan's personal entrance where he'd been let in an hour before. Reaching for his phone, Juan asked Michelle if she could find Jack for him.

Walking to his office shredder, he turned it on and dropped the report he'd just been given, folder and all, onto the feed tray. He watched the whole document go into the top and small strips of unreadable scrap fall out the bottom into the stack of other documents he'd shredded that day.

"Your call, Mr. Martin," came from a small speaker on his telephone.

Returning to his desk, Juan picked up the only other folder that represented an executive's idea of clutter on his desk and flipped it open. Leafing through the pages, he picked up the phone.

"Jack, you pinche carbon. What are you doing for lunch today?"

With that taken care of, he read the clause in the contract again as if reading it several times could actually change its wording. Yes, the Pond name opened many doors. The problem seemed to be finding the key needed to keep them open.

"Okay, Jack, level with me. You made a promise. Are you going to keep it or not?" Juan watched his friend as he shifted slightly in his chair, sitting in the posh midtown restaurant. Everything seemed so right less than a month ago, thought Juan. Now, it's all changed, and to top it off, Jack seemed evasive.

"I know I did, Juan. Let me think about it. I would guess the answer is yes, but I need to think about it a little more." Giving Juan a wide grin, he continued, "Besides, I've just returned to the land of the living. You wouldn't begrudge me enjoying it a little before 9 to 5 gets a grip would you, compadre?"

"No, I guess not. But don't dally; this is important."

Jack offered a mock salute before returning to his meal, lost more in thoughts of Jan than corporate business deals. He had to be honest; he missed her much more than he expected or wanted to admit. 

It had taken a week for him to finally get around to venturing into his war room again. Cold and dark, it suddenly seemed to have no meaning, and he promptly started disconnecting cables and pulling power cords. He had called Michelle to have her send over some packing boxes from the freight floor. Yes, he had decided it was time. By nine that evening, all the equipment was packed away with the boxes stacked neatly at the back of the room. The tables had been cleaned and wiped down; and he'd pushed his wheelchair out to the foyer by the elevator, putting a note on it that read Goodwill.

Back in his apartment, he'd gone to his study and removed the album of clippings from his safe. Then he sat in a leather wing-backed chair beside the roaring fire, accompanied by an old-fashioned glass and a bottle of Talisker; he went from page to page, tearing them out and throwing them into the flames.

No, he'd thought, this is not how I want to remember you as he paused at their picture before turning the light out and leaving the study.

"Jack?" Juan spoke a little louder this time to get his attention.

"Sorry, Juan. You asked me to think about it. I thought you meant right now," Jack responded with mock innocence.

"So when are you leaving to see, Jan?"

"Next Tuesday. I'll be gone for a few days, then back long enough to pack and get back on a plane."

Pushing a small wrapped package across the table, Juan explained. "This is from Mary and me for the two of you. Don't open it until Christmas day." 

Jack pulled it to him, leaving it beside his plate. "Thanks, Juan. And thank Mary for both of us. I know you would never have the presence of mind to think of us when we're out of sight."

Tipping his wine glass at Jack, Juan responded with, "Don't count on it, friend. Don't count on it."

*****

Linda was glad to be home - happier still when the doorbell stopped ringing and the constant parade of flowers and people ceased. She'd tolerated her mother's constant fussing for a week before finally convincing her she could take care of herself again.

The stitches had been removed a few days ago, and she was pleased to find she could, in fact, talk a little above a whisper. Instructions had been clear - no talking on the phone or yelling. She was happy to oblige on both counts, not really wanting to talk to anyone, on or off the phone, and not having anyone to yell at.

Probably the biggest relief had been getting access to her desktop, allowing her to check her mail - not just the accounts on her laptop but all her mail. Yes, she had been able to confirm it. She'd thought so even though she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. If nothing else, being in touch again had eased her mind even if it had taken three hours to sort through all the information and take the necessary action.

This afternoon she was actually enjoying the sun as it poured in through the huge double-hung window into her living room. Having ordered pizza, she was looking forward to sustenance that was neither soup nor pudding. Lying on her couch and waiting for her pizza order to arrive, she half-dozed while playing with the pieces of the puzzle that was her life. There seemed to be enough pieces, but not all the parts lined up quite right when she tried to put the picture together.

The building entrance buzzer rang, and she buzzed the door open without asking who it was, knowing that most people couldn't hear her anyway. Grabbing the ten dollar bill off the kitchen counter, she opened her apartment door and waited as she listened to what seemed to be two people walking up the old wooden staircase and talking. She couldn't make out the conversation because of the muffled echo produced by the high ceilings and hardwood flooring, but one voice seemed to be young - the pizza guy, she thought.

At the flight below hers, the talking stopped, and the pizza guy's hat appeared as he walked up to her floor. Offering him the money, he refused, saying Old Man Ben had told him it was her welcome back pizza but that he'd charge double for the next one. Fishing a dollar from the pocket of her jeans for a tip, she actually jumped when she saw the man, dressed in a business suit, standing quietly at the top of the stairs, waiting for her to finish her transaction.

"Thanks, Linda. Enjoy," and the pizza boy retreated, acknowledging the man as he walked by and ran down the stairs.

After a few awkward seconds, Linda stepped back from the door, motioning the man inside. Sitting the pizza on the counter, she turned to the kitchen cabinet to pull out two plates. "Pizza?" she asked, her voice husky but discernable.

"Sure," responded Jack.

"Beer or something else?"

"A beer will be fine."

Following Linda into the living room, they took up posts at opposite ends of the couch where they sat in silence, contemplating each other, plates in hand and beers on the floor at their feet.

"You don't seem surprised. Do you always let strange men into your apartment?"

Opening the box on the cushion between them, Linda picked up a slice of pizza, put it on her plate, and turned the box so Jack could get a slice also.

"I don't consider you a strange man. On the contrary, I think I know you quite well - Jack Pond, Lisa Stone's lover and the man who took a bullet from one of New York's finest that put him in a wheelchair for two years. I may have to revise that part because you certainly don't look like a recovering paraplegic." Retreating to her pizza, Linda chewed slowly and contemplated Jack as he sipped his beer. With no response, she continued. "More recently, you have been involved with Jan who, in fact, thought she was still involved with Lisa as recently as… well, I don't know. You tell me."

Jack's slice of pizza was untouched on his plate as he set his beer bottle back on the floor and shifted slightly at the end of the couch. "You seem to have done your homework."

Washing her bite of pizza down with a sip of beer, Linda continued. "You are the owner of Pond Enterprises which seems to be in the midst of a very big business deal with the two biggest freight carriers in the world which should automatically put you right up there with them in one fell swoop."

"Tuesday and Wednesday of the week before Thanksgiving, you and Jan were staying together at your place in New York in Manhattan."

Taking a bite of his pizza, Jack sat in wonder at the details Linda was able to provide. "Why?" was all he could manage.

"Frankly, I couldn't figure out why, Jan, who thought she was chatting with Lisa every night and who thought of Lisa as a lover, was with you. Maybe you can bring me up to speed, Jack. And by the way, how do you know who I am?"

Standing, Jack walked to the window and looked vacantly at the traffic on the street below. If he'd paid a little more attention to the street, he might have noticed the black antenna farm parked halfway down the block. Turning to sit on the window sill, he pulled a small envelope from inside his pocket and tossed it on the couch beside Linda.

Looking at Jack then back at the envelope, she picked it up and slid it open, peering inside. Reaching with two fingers, she pulled out a set of prints and started going through them. Jack watched closely as her neck and cheeks flushed red. Setting the prints on top of the discarded envelope, she turned back to Jack and waited. The watery eyes of withheld tears were not lost on him.

"I took those off of Jan's computer the night she made love to me for Lisa."

Linda was confused. What could pictures of her have to do with that night - the night that seemed to mark the beginning of the end? "I don't get it, Jack. What do I have to do with that night?"

"Why do you say 'that night'? Why not ask me 'which night'? I mean doesn't that seem odd to you?"

Jack watched as Linda blushed again even deeper than before. "Because I know which night you're talking about. I didn't know it was you at the time, but I was watching." There was a pause, and she added, "I always watched Jan."

Jack wasn't sure if this confirmed what he came to discover or not and decided to push ahead. "How do you know Jan thought she was having a relationship with Lisa?"

"Come on, Jack. You must know who I work for. You've seen it all over the news for the past week." Seeing Jack's confused look, Linda explained. "We spy on everyone, Jack. We can look at your mail and watch your side of your chat. We follow you into chat rooms to see what you do, what you like, who you are. Jan was work for a long time, but then she became something else - a more personal interest, you might say."

"But you knew Lisa was dead! Why didn't you tell Jan?" Jack's anger boiled over as he walked to the couch to pick up his beer without sitting, bringing the full weight of his presence to bear as he towered over Linda. "What exactly was the 'personal interest' you had in Jan? Was she your next victim?"

Linda didn't think before exploding. Jumping from the couch, she charged Jack, pounding furiously on his chest. She couldn't yell, but her face turned red with the effort of trying. "Who the fuck do you think you are coming in here accusing me?" as she continued to pound away at his chest. "I gave my life to catch the killer, and all everyone has done is ride me about not getting the job done. I didn't kill Lisa or any of the others. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let anything happen to Jan." Taking a breath, she seemed to deflate simultaneously as she leaned into Jack's chest and sobbed. Not sure what to do, Jack brought his arms up and held her. At last, he heard Linda continue in a hoarse whisper. "She was part of an investigation, Jack; I couldn't interfere with that, but believe me when I tell you I wouldn't have let anything happen to her."

And Jack did. The sobs were too real, and the pieces fit better than the alternative. Guiding her to the couch, Jack sat on the coffee table and waited until Linda's sobs subsided. Then, stating in a matter-of-fact way more suited to the board room than a crying woman's living room, he told her, "We had a picture that night on Jan's computer from Lisa. That's really the only reason we did what we did. It was a trap to bring her out of hiding so we could find her. Those photos came from that night. The Lisa on Jan's computer was you."

Linda struggled to make sense of it all. "I guess, in a way, it makes sense. Not many people would have the resources needed to pull someone else's cam and patch it seamlessly to another computer."

Jack searched Linda's face trying to make sense of what she'd just said before asking, "Could you define 'personal interest' for me?"

How could she? Linda felt trapped and wanted to run away. But Jack now knew more than anyone else, and she felt a need to tell it all. It was time to let someone else carry part of the burden. Wiping her eyes on one of the pizza napkins, she looked at Jack and began to explain in soft, hoarse whispers, her life for the last two years.

Linda had been the new kid on the block - the wonder kid - some had said. She'd been selected to head up one of the biggest and most unique investigations of a serial killing to come down the pike.

The beginning had gone well. But then, don't all beginnings? Her plan had been approved, well, most of it, anyway. She was being given the chance to set precedence for future cases and most likely, for the way the ICB would work from that point on.

The first three months had been full of things to do, and she found that decisions came easily to her. She set up the monitoring stations, hired people, and wielded power in the bureau like most people wield their right to bathroom breaks. 

Then, something had happened; something she hadn't had the vision to foresee. There were two things, really, when she thought about it. The first was nothing - exactly that - nothing happened. She didn't solve the crime of the century, and her department seemed bogged down in defending itself to people like John and those that sided with him, spouting off about the millions being spent to support a bunch of 'sticky-fingered' geeks.

This seemed to be a catalyst for the second. She suddenly found herself sucked in by it all - more like being addicted might be closer to the truth. She found herself, at first, put off by all the sex and nudity they all were exposed to on a daily basis. The thrill of the newness of it all, combined with the animalistic response to base desires was more than she could handle. Suddenly, she found herself, sitting in front of her computer at home, signing on to catch a glimpse of a guy she thought was particularly attractive - a turn-on you might say.

Then, as time progressed, the guys became boring - mundane. The sight of a good-looking hunk that most girls would go ballistic over just didn't do it for her. At first, she tried to deny it, but the beauty of a woman's body called to a deeper part of her.

Through it all, she had tried to justify her out-of-office computer activity by telling herself it was additional investigation. That's when she started pushing people away. Her boyfriend was the first to go, and her family was the last. Her life consisted of a working day and a surfing night, sitting up until two or three in the morning just to catch a glimpse of a specific person or of an act they might perform.

Over time, she'd watched her interest in Jan swing from purely professional to something much more intimate - something personal – a kind of love, perhaps, for nothing other than the innocent freedom Jan displayed on cam. Or maybe, it was admiration; she really wasn't sure.

Most recently, Linda had started doubting - doubting herself, her personal choices, and her professional achievements - in short, doubting her worth. Recent events at the office had only added to the situation, and the death of John seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back or at least, the cyber cycle.

Out of all of this, there was one thing she was sure of. John was not the 'On-screen Killer'. Of that, she was sure. She'd suspected someone else for six months now. The problem was the information came from a source other than her department, and she'd felt she'd be laughed out of the bureau if the crime were solved without the need of all her fancy ideas, concepts, or the money spent on it.

But then, her activities had morphed again, and Linda felt like the electronic world of words and visuals was more real than reality itself. She began to think it was her duty - her life's meaning - to watch over and protect her world's co-habitants. She had begun to see herself as a guardian for the unaware as they came out to visit and explore. 

They sat in silence for awhile as the shadows gave way to a dusky darkness, and Linda finally turned the lamp on at her end of the couch.

"Wait. What do you mean John isn't the killer?"

Having bared her soul, Linda saw little need to continue the charade. "Let me show you something." Taking his hand, she led him to a door in the short hall that led to her bedroom - a door that could have been another bedroom or closet. He could easily have accepted anything, other than what he found on the other side.



The Sentinel Ch. 18



Jan sat in her bedroom in the middle of her bed, wearing a silk nightshirt and panties while pouring over folders and reports. It seemed things were going exceptionally well at the office, but, instead of lessening the burden, it only seemed to pile more work on.

While she read, her mind kept wandering back to Jack. She'd never felt so close to anyone, yet she wondered if their closeness was simply two people sharing a common experience - one charged with an emotion other than love, maybe loss. While he seemed so open and honest with his feelings, there always appeared to be something hidden - a room in his mind whose door she hadn't found yet, much less opened.

Tossing the last report back onto the pile, she picked them up, straightened them in her hands, and dropped them in the outside pocket of her computer case. She looked at the zipper for a minute and wondered if she should plug it in - log in and see if Jack was around. But they had both agreed; chat was not the place to communicate for now and had stuck to phone calls and e-mail.

Abandoning the idea, she picked up her glass, a plate, and wadded napkin from where she'd had a snack earlier and padded barefoot downstairs. What are you thinking about right now, Jack, she wondered? Setting the dishes in the sink and tossing the napkin in the trash, she checked the back doors and stopped at the alarm control to check it before heading back upstairs. That's funny, she thought. How could the alarm show the front door as open? Thinking she might not have pulled it closed completely when she came home from the office, she headed for the foyer. But she realized too late that the front door had been closed when she came downstairs, just a few minutes ago; living alone, she had a habit of keeping an eye on things like that.

She froze in the entryway from the kitchen to the foyer, staring at the front door which was open a few feet, and letting a cool breeze come in from the porch.

Glancing around quickly, she noticed her purse and car keys still on the foyer table under the big mirror. Grab the keys and run, or turn around and hit the panic button on the alarm? How could someone get in here, she wondered. There's a gate and cameras all over the place with two guards sitting in the guard shack at the corner of the property that are supposed to be watching the monitors and sensors.

Spinning quietly on her heels, she retraced her steps to the alarm station on tiptoe and punched the panic button. Nothing happened. She had never used it before but seemed to recall that some kind of confirmation should come up on the display, indicating she'd pushed it. Pressing again, this time slower and firmer, she carefully watched the display as it refused to acknowledge her action. Slipping into a panic, she turned quickly and lunged at the phone on the wall beside the refrigerator. Dead. Damn. She cursed the thing and threw it to the floor, watching it shatter.

Suddenly, conscious of all the noise she was making, she crouched behind the counter and listened. Nothing - no creaking boards, rustling curtains, or clicking door latches. There was only the quiet hum of the refrigerator as it blew warm air across her bare feet. Avoiding the pieces of broken phone parts on the floor, she crept along, below the counter, to the corner closest to the kitchen entrance and the foyer.

Stopping again, she listened and couldn't even hear the refrigerator above the pounding of her heart as blood rushed to her head. Hands shaking, she raised them to balance herself on the frame of the door, forcing herself to lean forward and peer around the corner. She felt her heart stop when she saw the door was now closed.

Glancing at the entrance to the front room on the right, she could see nothing but shadows and darkness, mostly darkness. Looking over her shoulder, she peered above the counter and quickly scanned the kitchen to confirm she was still alone. She couldn't see much of the back deck with so little light, but she had checked those locks, and they were secure.

Turning back to the foyer, she inched forward a little more, centering her feet under her crouching figure, ready to make a run for her car keys and the front door. Stopping to listen again, she waited, wishing desperately, Jack were here.

Taking a deep breath, she rocked back on the balls of her feet and sprang up, charging for the table. Scooping the keys up in one hand and snagging her purse for the cell phone it contained in the other, she grabbed the door, turned the handle, and pulled. She almost fell when it didn't come open, and she couldn't figure out why. Trying again, she looked down and realized the deadbolt was set from the inside. Freezing, she listened as she tried to stifle sobs of panic and fear.

Two breaths, three. Her heart didn't slow; she had to get control of herself. Four. Five. She counted to herself as she tried to slow her breathing before she passed out. Nothing had happened yet. She was still alive. Turning the deadbolt, she turned the doorknob again and was rewarded this time when the door pulled away from the frame, allowing her to scamper out. Clicking the alarm button on her car, she was confused when the lights started flashing and the alarm wailed, piercing the quiet night with a banshee's cry of intrusion. In her rush, she had hit the car's panic button instead of the alarm button without realizing it.

Ignoring the car alarm, she ran to the driver's side, cutting her feet on loose bits of gravel strewn around the black asphalt drive. She grabbed the car's door handle; but it slipped out of her hand; the door wouldn't open. Now in a full blown panic and needing to escape, she threw the keys down. Hugging her purse to her body, she started running towards the side of the house, in the general direction of the guard house. She wasn't sure if she could run full out for 200 yards, but she planned on giving it a hell of a try.

Just as she got about 50 yards away from the house, bright lights came on behind her. Then, what seemed to be a moving light swung across from the back, making her shadow move from left to right in front of her. Glancing back across her shoulder with her feet still pumping, the sight of four big lights and a smaller one moving back and forth just pushed her harder - hard enough that she was paying no attention to where her feet fell. The pain was excruciating when she stepped into the gopher hole, trapping her foot and sending the purse flying from her arms while she tumbled into blackness.

The uniformed security guard sat on the grass beside Jan and watched her breathing. Feeling the side of her neck, he could tell her pulse was fast but strong. In the headlights of the 4x4 used to patrol the grounds, he looked at her ankle. Definitely broken. His partner appeared and asked how she looked. "She's alive, but her ankle is shot."

"I've called for an ambulance, and the county is sending a couple of units over. You stay here with her, and I'll go to the gate and let them in. First, the front gate trips an alarm and now this. What the hell was she doing running like that, anyway? And dressed like that?"

The 4x4 backed up and pulled away, racing toward the front gate, leaving the guard with only a flashlight to watch over Jan.

Jan came to in the emergency room just as a young doctor pulled gently on her foot, trying to confirm the obvious. Completely disorientated, the pain shot up her leg, and she screamed. A nurse, standing beside her head, continued with the shot she had already prepared, and Jan slumped back on the examining table as the bright lights of the emergency room faded to black.

When she awoke, she could hear whispering, but for some reason couldn't see anything. Straining to look toward the sound, her vision was blurred by a hall light behind the voices, and she raised her hand to block it out, trying to see who was there. One of the blurry forms rushed to the side of the bed.

"You gave us quite a scare, Jan." Paul's familiar baritone was comforting as she let her head fall back on the pillow. Paul Morse was one of the original investors and business partners at the office. As financial director, he was always on call for an emergency or need of Jan's'.

"What's going on, Paul? Where am I?"

"You're at County Hospital. The guards found you running across the grounds at your house in a nightshirt. Apparently, you tripped in a gopher hole and took quite a tumble. Your right ankle is broken, and they want to keep you in observation for the night. Possible concussion." 

Jan grabbed his arm and pulled him close. "Someone was in my house, Paul. Did they check the house?"

"Yes, they did. They found your car keys beside your car with the alarm going; the kitchen phone smashed in front of the refrigerator; and your purse about 20 feet away from where you fell. The front door was standing open so they searched the house from top to bottom but found nothing."

"I pushed the panic button on my alarm twice. Did it go off anywhere?"

"They checked the alarm. It was working properly, and the panic button hadn't been pushed." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Paul looked down at the cast and back up at Jan. "Did you see whoever broke in?"

"No."

"We didn't find any broken windows or jimmied doors. How do you know someone broke in?"

"I found the front door standing open, Paul. A minute later, it was closed, and I didn't close it." Her jaw set a little as she heard skepticism in Paul's voice.

"We checked everything, Jan. I walked through the place myself, and there was nothing." Laying his hand on her upper arm, he continued. "We tried to find Jack, but he seems to be on a trip and out of touch. Maybe, it's just the workload. This is our busiest time of the year, Jan, and you haven't stopped since returning from New York."

Jan stared at the ceiling for a minute and sighed. Looking up at Paul, she said, "Maybe, you're right."

But she knew what she'd seen. That door didn't close itself, and there wasn't enough wind to blow it shut. Besides, how did the deadbolt get set? Resigned to the situation, they talked for a few more minutes about what to do at the office tomorrow, and Paul offered to come back around noon to take her home. She really didn't want to argue about going back to the house right now, but she was sure someone had come in, and they seemed to have a key.

"Paul, one thing you can do is have the locks changed - all of them - and early, before I get home. Also, call the alarm company, and tell them to replace the alarm unit. I don't care if it is working right or not. As much as we spend with them in a year, they can afford it. Tomorrow, have Dave or someone come by and get me." Looking down at her leg in the heavy plaster cast that kept her foot from moving and ended just below her knee, she moaned, "Damn, how am I going to move around the house now?"

Where the hell is Jack, she wondered, as the nurse injected her once again, sending her to a dreamless sleep.

*****

Jack was somewhere over Louisiana, fidgeting in first class, trying to find a position he could sleep in. After Linda shared her information, he had decided to head straight for the airport and wait for the first flight to Miami. Around midnight while waiting in the airport for a two AM flight, he found that the battery on his cell phone was dead, so he had decided to let everyone sleep and skipped checking in.

Going over it all in his mind once again, he really couldn't find a way to refute Linda's conclusions. Considering what those conclusions were, he decided the best place he could be was close to Jan. It was going to happen again. He was sure of it.

*****

Jan had never seen a more welcome sight than Dave appearing at the door of her hospital room. The only thing she wanted to do was get out of here. They must have missed something at the house, and she was sure she could find it. Her plan was to get Dave to help her get up and down the stairs as they checked the house out and tried to put together exactly what happened.

Dave seemed moody and quiet which was fine with her. She wasn't in a mood for small talk, anyway. Besides, she was still miffed about her lost package.

Tossing a small leather purse onto her lap as he pulled away from the hospital, Dave said Paul had sent it; it contained the new keys to the house. "Each one is marked with a small tag so you know what goes with what." Why does it sound like he's talking to a three-year-old, she wondered?

Thanks, Dave, she thought. Why not break my other leg while you're at it? Suddenly, she felt bad about her feelings toward Dave and realized her ankle was throbbing. Opening her purse, wearing its green war badge from its skid across the grass the previous night, she fished around until she found the bottle of pain killers they'd given her at the hospital. Reading the bottle as Dave's car bounced along, she finally made out the instructions - one every four hours or as needed. Well, this is needed, so she popped the cap and slipped the pill onto her tongue, dry swallowing it with a grimace.

Feeling guilty about being such a bitch, she asked if he had plans for Christmas. His sideways glance didn't seem to say all that much, and she decided he must have broken his ankle last night, too, because his mood seemed to match her own.

They settled into silence, and she watched the scenery slip by as they headed out of town. Wondering again where Jack was, she flipped the AC vent on her side of the car so the air blew directly at her face, hoping the cool air would help hold the tears back.

When they turned off the road onto her lane, she noticed her ankle had calmed to a gentle throb. Snapping open the pouch, she dug around for the key marked 'front door' and held it in her hand while Dave slid his card into the electronic sentry, saluting the camera as they drove through. What a boy scout, she thought.

She noticed, in passing, the tire ruts from the security guard's 4x4 where he'd raced across the grass the previous night to open the gate for the ambulance. Following them as they drove along, she saw them drop below the rise and disappear out of view. 

Parking behind her own car, Dave pulled his key out of the ignition and walked around to open the door. "Here we are, home sweet home."

She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the way he said 'home sweet home' just didn't seem right. At least, he offered her a hand, helping her out of the car and up the stairs where she waited by the front door. Not wanting to open it without Dave there for protection, she watched him pull, from the back of his car, a standard-issued, green wheelchair just like the one Jack purchased when they arrived in New York and carry it up the stairs. "Tom said you might want me to help you check out the house before I leave. I can get the rest of the stuff later."

Jan stood at the door, key in hand, looking ridiculous as she tried to put her finger on what was wrong with Dave. He seemed so... she just couldn't figure it out, but she did know this wasn't the Dave she'd known for more than two years.

She heard the click of the tumblers as she turned the key and pushed gently on the door as if pushing too hard might tell whoever was in there she had returned - wounded, but ready to fight again - something she really didn't want to do.

Seeing Jan wasn't going in, Dave finally walked past her and literally stomped into the foyer making as much noise as a small army. Using the door frame and wall, Jan hopped along behind him taking up a post in the middle of the foyer. She turned to look accusingly at the front door, as if to say, 'It's all your fault' but decided Dave would know for sure she had gone off the deep end if she actually voiced that thought.

Watching his back recede into the front room, she stood vigil in the foyer, making sure the door was going to behave while stealing glances at Dave as he walked around looking behind furniture and pulling out the drapes. He even got down on the floor and looked behind the couch which was shoved up against the wall. It was a big room, but a simple one, with no other entries or exits other than the windows and no closets.

Walking back, Dave reported all clear from the front room. She hobbled along the foyer, using the staircase for support and followed him into the kitchen, taking up post at the end of the counter where she could still keep an eye on the front door. The broken phone was spread around the floor in front of the refrigerator, and she thought she should ask Dave to check the phones, too. Looking at the mess, he kicked the pieces out of the way and looked up at the base attached to the wall. "Here it is. I found it."

Jan just stared for a moment, wondering what or who Dave thought he'd found, when it occurred to her he wasn't going to continue unless she asked. "What, Dave, you found what?"

"Why the phone didn't work."

Hobbling along the counter, she looked around his arm as he pointed at a small, slide switch on the base that seemed to be stuck between two selections. A combination cordless phone and answering machine, it required the user to select which he wanted to use. When listening to the answering machine, you weren't allowed to make outbound phone calls. "You probably hit this switch with the tip of your finger as you yanked the phone out of the cradle and pushed it out of position." Looking down at the mess on the floor, he continued. "Of course, I don't think we can check it with the handset all busted up like that, but I imagine that's why it didn't work last night."

Well, right you are, Dave. Why was he being such an ass? Before she could ask, he moved on to the alarm control panel. Glancing at the unit, he pulled a note down that was taped to the wall beside it. Studying the information, he turned to Jan. "When you tried to use the alarm last night, did you hold the large yellow button marked 'Access' down at the same time you pressed the panic button?"

She couldn't believe this. Biting back what she really wanted to say, she answered between clenched teeth, "No Dave. Why?"

"Well," holding up the note and pointing at it as if saying it was as plain as day, he summarized the message the alarm company had left for her. "It says, you have to hold down the yellow 'Access' key for the panic button to work; it goes on to say you had requested it be programmed like that to keep someone from just bumping into it and setting the alarm off. Also, it says they'd be glad to bring out their copy of the contract and go over all the features and how you wanted it programmed if you like." 

It was too much, and she felt all the anger leave, taking her resolve with it. How could this be? Was Tom right? Had she been working too hard? Was the door closed the whole time? Did she leave it open, and the wind blow it shut?

"I give up, Dave. Let's get my crutches and other things out of the car, and if you can help me get upstairs, I think I'll lie down for awhile. I don't see any reason for checking the rest of the house. Do you?"

Why did she even ask? He was already through the foyer and out the front door before she finished the question. Dave came inside and stomped up the stairs, carrying her new aluminum crutches and an overnight bag her secretary had brought to the hospital this morning with the summer dress she was wearing and other personal items. "You want me to put these in your bedroom?" Dave asked as he disappeared around the landing and onto the second floor.

"Sure, Dave. That would be nice. And Dave ..." Jan called after him, deciding she had probably been a much bigger bitch all morning than Dave had been an asshole and maybe she owed him an apology.

Concentrating on where to place her hands for balance, Jan hobbled out of the kitchen and around the base of the staircase to stand where she could wait for Dave to help her up the stairs. Looking around the foyer again while she waited, she began to wonder if dear old Dave was rifling her panty drawer for a cheap thrill.




The Sentinel Ch. 18



"Dave," she called up the stairs before cupping her hands around her mouth to direct the sound. "Dave, what the hell are you doing up there?" This was getting ridiculous. Looking down at her cast and up the stairs, she decided she could do this. Pulling on the newel post, she raised her cast to the first step and pulled herself up behind it. The pain was excruciating, and she decided that wasn't the best way to go about it. Placing her good foot on the next step while sliding her hands farther up the banister to pull both her and the cast up together, she grunted and forged ahead. That's more like it, she thought. 

Several grunts and four steps later, she stopped to yell at Dave again. "Dave, this is really pissing me off. What the hell are you doing up there?" Ominously, no one answered back, but the daytime creaks and groans any house makes as the exterior heats up from the sun.

Pulling herself up three more steps, put her on the landing where the staircase turned to the left before the six remaining steps to the top. She wondered why on earth she had purchased a house with such high ceilings as she stopped to catch her breath. Pleading now, she called out to Dave again. "Look, Dave, I felt bad. I was in a bad mood. I'm sorry if I've been a bitch this morning."

Pulling herself up three more steps, she could feel the pain in her ankle as it throbbed, shooting up her leg with every beat of her heart. The doctor had said to stay off the foot. What the hell am I doing, anyway? Looking up from the cast, she could now see down the upstairs hallway to her bedroom. Her blood ran cold when she saw the lower half of Dave's body, lying in the doorway to her bedroom, his pants and shoes in view while the rest of his body was hidden by the wall. More importantly, his gun was gone and the holster empty.



The Sentinel Ch. 19



Jack pressed the call button at the gate for the fourth time, holding it down 15 seconds while he stared into the security camera. How could this be, he thought; something's wrong. With the security Jan had, the gate intercom should have been answered before he had pulled his finger off the button the first time.

Putting the car in reverse, he backed up about thirty feet and dropped it into park while inspecting the gate. It was a heavy, wrought iron assembly, set into stone pillars, and placed at the end of eight-foot-high stone fencing, running in either direction to the edge of the property. He decided he couldn't break it down without possibly setting the airbag off which would be a dangerous proposition.

Something's wrong, and I have to get there, right now. Climbing the gate was a possibility, but his recollection was that it was still a good mile to the house. Seven or eight minutes might be too long. Putting the car into drive, he pulled the wheel to the right and drove almost half a mile along the stone wall through the field between the fence and main road. At the corner, he saw what appeared to be the neighbor's barbed wire fence which ran back out to the main road. Picking up a little more speed, he barreled through the barbed wire fence, hoping the tires would survive. Then he turned left toward the ocean, driving in what appeared to be an undeveloped field of clover and weeds that ran all along Jan's fence to the sea.

The terrain of the property seemed to roll gently like Jan's did which made the steering sloppy. About three-quarters of a mile farther, the roll crested, giving him an unobstructed view of the slate blue color of the ocean, still another mile ahead. The stone wall appeared to end at the edge of the beach. As he forged ahead, the steering felt even worse, and he became concerned he'd either blown a tire or the ground was becoming too soft, leaving him in danger of getting stuck.

He gave the car a little more gas as he fought the wheel and tried to keep it pointed toward the ocean. He felt it take flight before he saw the erosion drop-off, hidden by the tall, unending grass. Pushing hard on the steering wheel, he pressed the back of his head against the headrest and waited for the inevitable. The front of the car dropped just before hitting the opposite side of the wide ditch with a solid thud; it was followed by a popping sound, rather like a 22 caliber gun being fired, as the airbag pushed out to meet him on his journey to the windshield. 

It pressed him back into the headrest before deflating completely to drape over his chest and arms. A little sore across his lap where the belt dug in, he released the buckle and forced his door open, stumbling out into the soft mixture of damp soil mixed with sand.

Standing to brush off, Jack did a quick personal inventory and decided he was fine. Getting his bearings, he jogged the last fifty yards to the edge of the stone wall where he jumped onto the beach. Running about 15 feet to his left, he found three wooden steps, weathered and neglected, that would take him up the three-foot ledge to the yard. Jogging toward the house, he saw what appeared to be the security building to his left, built into the stone wall. The building was about the size of a two-car garage with polarized windows on three sides, and there was a 4x4 parked on an asphalt drive that ran along the stone wall, back toward the front gate. 

On firmer footing, he ran to the closest window and banged on it, unable to see inside. As he continued around the building, constantly banging on the glass as he went by, he thought surely someone would want to know who the idiot was that had breached their security.

Turning the next corner, he got a closer look at the 4x4 with its windows down and looked left to find a grey metal door standing open. Stopping at the entrance, he listened while he caught his breath. The static rush of a police scanner, filled with snippets of conversation, was the only thing he heard. Pressing his palm against the door, it pushed in, revealing a tile-covered floor and rush of cool air as the air-conditioned interior found its way outside.

Taking a few cautious steps inside, he paused and listened once more before calling out. "Hello. I need some help. Is anyone here?" Nothing, but the drone of the scanner answered back. Taking five more careful steps he stood in what must have been the main monitoring area with several color monitors, showing different views of the grounds. A yellow light marked 'Front Gate' was flashing, probably in response to his frantic button pushing earlier. 

There was no sign of life as he strode to the back of the room and pushed in on another door that was slightly ajar. Rubbing the wall on the right with his palm, he finally slid across the light switch and was confronted by the sight of two uniformed men sprawled on the floor with what appeared to be shots to the back of their heads. Forcing himself to move farther into the room, he glanced around at what appeared to be an equipment and storage area before bending over to pull a gun out of the holster of one of the dead men. Stepping on the edge of the pool of blood, he noted it was still very liquid. This couldn't have happened more than an hour ago, he thought.

Leaving the room, he returned to the monitor console and scanned the counter below the screens for a phone. As he walked forward, scanning the yard through the huge window over the counter, his hand went to the phone and drew it to his ear. Dead.

He dropped the handset and headed for the door he'd come in through, finding what he expected right beside the door. Plucking the keys to the 4x4 from the key rack by the door, he ran out and jumped in, starting the engine, he made a tight U-turn, electing to cut across the grass toward the house instead of following the small service lane.

Passing a bunch of ruts in the ground, he recognized them as tire tracks. From the looks of the grass, there had been several cars parked, with people milling around recently. Spurred on, he accelerated and skidded to a stop as he bounced over a sidewalk and curb at the edge of Jan's drive; he was behind a dark blue Lincoln with the trunk open which was parked behind Jan's Mercedes.

Jumping out and leaving the motor running, Jack ran around the front of the vehicle and up the porch stairs to find the front door standing open, inviting him in. He stopped in the doorway and listened as he looked down at the 45 semi-automatic in his hand, finding the safety and thumbing it off.

Hearing nothing, he stepped into the foyer cautiously, noting Jan's purse and a pile of loose keys on the table under the big mirror. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, he pulled the slide back on the pistol, loading a bullet into the chamber and cocking the hammer back. Bringing it up in a two-handed grip, he pointed it at the ceiling, close to his body, as he stepped quietly to the front room doorway and scanned the room. Finding no one there, he turned toward the kitchen doorway and moved forward quietly.

Pausing behind the wall around the doorway, he crouched before swinging one foot through. Staying low as he went into the entrance, he quickly scanned the room across the barrel of the gun. Still nothing. Stepping quickly into the kitchen, he turned and leaned against the door frame, looking back into the foyer. Glancing over his shoulder to see what was scattered on the floor in front of the refrigerator, it took him a few seconds to recognize the phone.

His heart raced as he became very aware of the situation. The security guards had been brutally murdered sometime this morning. Something had happened in the yard, but he couldn't tell when. The house was wide open. There had been some kind of struggle in the kitchen, and he couldn't find Jan.

Steeling himself, he crept around the wall of the staircase to the bottom stair as he scanned them across the barrel of the gun. He tried to recall if the wooden stairs made much noise but decided there was nothing he could do about it anyway, as he started toward the landing, two steps at a time.

So far so good, he thought when he made it to the landing with no giveaway creaks or moans from the old wood. With a quick scan back down the stairs, he continued up, one step at a time, stooping to keep his head below the top of the stairs as long as possible.

Stopping three stairs below the top, he raised his head and looked out across the hall floor. He could see that Jan's bedroom door was open but nothing else. Continuing up the stairs, he froze when the top step creaked loudly.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his face in small streams to drip off his chin. Hearing nothing, he lifted his foot off the board, hoping it wouldn't creak again and stepped over it onto the hall carpet.

Moving along the hallway wall on the same side as Jan's bedroom, he slid past the closed door to the bedroom that he'd stayed in before and moved closer to Jan's. The first thing that came into view was Jan's laptop, sitting on her makeup table; it was open and running. A step closer and a camera came into view; it was pointed away from the table toward the direction that the bed would be. Looking back at the computer, Jack could see a chat box open and what appeared to be a black box where the camera's broadcast view would have been.

Stopping at the edge of Jan's bedroom door, Jack listened intently, still holding the cocked pistol in both hands, pointed toward the ceiling. Glancing across the hall, he saw the door to Jan's study slightly ajar. Shifting his head, he could see nothing but part of her desk and bookcases behind it. Deciding the bedroom seemed to be the only place with activity, he leaned up to the edge of the door and peered around the frame.

There was Jan spread-eagled on the bed in just a pair of panties, her breasts heaving as she strained to look down across her body at the door. A gag stopped her from yelling or calling out, and a heavy white plaster cast on one foot, contrasted sharply with her tanned, smooth skin.

Jumping through the doorway, not caring about the noise, Jack scanned the room over the barrel of the gun and almost shot what appeared to be someone slouched in the corner by the closet until something about that person's posture told Jack they were either passed out or dead already. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed the familiar form and finally realized it was Dave - the security guy he had wanted to fire. Seeing no one else in the room, Jack was at the edge of Jan's side in two strides and found she was tied to each corner of the bed.

Eyes wide with fright, Jan's head bobbed as much as it could while her body strained against the constraints with a soft moaning sound coming from behind her gag.

Jack dropped the gun beside her body and moved quickly to the closest wrist where he tried to figure out how to untie it. Jan seemed desperate as she pulled and bucked when he gave up on her wrist and followed the rope to the corner of the bed to see if he could break the bed or untie the rope at that end.

"Shhhhh, Jan, it's going to be okay," Jack whispered as he finally worked the rope's loop under the leg of the Hollywood frame, setting her arm free. Coming up from his crouched position, Jan's arm flailed wildly, whipping the rope across his back, before coming off the bed to point toward the door.

Spinning on his heels, Jack knew he was too late as he felt the blow to the back of his head. The sight of Jan's heaving, naked breasts and her eyes wide with fear faded quickly as he slipped into darkness.

*****

The two men in the antenna farm on wheels sat, slouched against the two front doors of the van. They were parked off the main road over a small knoll just out of sight of the entrance to Jan's lane, talking about last weekend's football game. Both were seemingly bored to tears while the one in the driver's seat smoked a cigarette and fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station that suited him. The static sound of voice and hiss from a police scanner droned in the back of the van.

The chirp of a cell phone seemed to bring both of them up in their seats as the smoker reached on the dash and flipped the top open on the small silver phone.

"Yeah," was the only thing he said, holding the small piece of plastic to his ear. A minute later, he closed the phone, hanging it up without saying goodbye.

"The Woo woman isn't in her apartment. Charlie finally gave up when he saw no activity after Mr. Pond left and snuck up the fire escape to peer in the windows. Couldn't see anyone so he climbed back down and went back up inside and picked the lock. There was no one home, and he said she probably left when it was still dark, shortly after Mr. Pond did."

"Have they checked the airlines, yet?"

"Doing that now."

"I don't trust her."

"Neither did Charlie. That's why he stayed behind to keep an eye on her." Pausing to study the horizon, he added, "Mr. Martin is not going to be happy."

The other shifted in his seat and said, "Tell me about it." 



The Sentinel Ch. 20



When Jack came to, he found himself tied to the chair that sat in front of Jan's makeup table. His arms were pulled back, and when he rocked in the chair to test his bonds, they wouldn't budge. More rope was wrapped across the front of his chest, and he guessed that it was looped around the back of the chair. Trying one foot and then the other, he concluded they were tied tightly to each leg. In effect, the only part of his body he could move was his head. A gag that seemed to be made of a silky material, maybe one of Jan's thigh highs, cut into his cheeks at the corners of his mouth.

What appeared to be a beach towel hung over the mirror behind the open laptop, cutting off the view from the bed against the opposite wall behind him. Rocking a little, he decided he could turn the chair onto its side if he wanted. It felt fairly strong, and he wasn't sure what he'd accomplish by doing that.

"How good of you to show up, Jack."

The voice was male and sounded educated, but other than that, he could discern very little.

"Jan and I thought we would wait around awhile and see if you came out to chat, but in person is so much better."

With the reference to chat, Jack's blood ran cold. Rocking in the chair, he struggled once more only to feel the ropes cut deep into his skin, leaving an itchy, burning sensation. Hearing footsteps behind him, he froze trying to locate the person from the sound; it seemed to move from the side of the room where the closet was to right behind his chair.

"How's that, Jack? Is the picture good?"

Looking at the laptop's screen, he suddenly saw Jan in the broadcast monitor window, still tied spread-eagled to the bed in her panties. The arm he'd freed had been secured again, and the gag put back, firmly in place.

There was a sound of movement again as Jack's tormenter retreated. Jack decided he had taken the lens' cap off the camera so he could watch. "Yes, Jack, I think this is so much better. Just think what the sound will be like. And if you're good, I'll even take her gag off before we're finished here."

Jack slumped against his rope. Yes, Linda had been right. This was about him, and in spite of not recognizing the voice, he knew exactly who was standing in the room behind him. Watching the cam view on the laptop, there seemed to be little he could do while Scott continued to speak.

"She is lovely, Jack. I even think she's even lovelier than Lisa was. What do you think, Jackie boy?"

Jack bucked wildly in the chair, deciding that tipping it over would bring Scott closer. Maybe, it would present some kind of opportunity.

"Now, Jack, let's not make me feel hurried." With that, Jack froze, and the chair settled firmly on all four legs, leaving him to stare at the cam picture on the screen - a gloved hand, resting on one of Jan's bare breasts, toying languidly, with the nipple.

"That's better, Jack. And speaking of Lisa, what did you think of that? Quite the flair for the theatrical is what I thought. I think artists always go overboard on their first performance."

Jack watched Jan closely as she lay submissively, not struggling; her eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling. Her bare breasts rose occasionally, and he could see her swallow, but other than that, her arms and legs were motionless. There was a clinking sound, and Jack could hear some sort of liquid being poured. Watching Jan, she seemed to glance to her right before turning her face back up to stare at the ceiling. There was another small clicking sound, and a few seconds later, Jack recognized the pungent odor of a cigar. The room remained silent except for the sound of Jack's own breathing.

*****

When Linda had put forth her theory, Jack had laughed, but she'd insisted. "Look, Jack, his motive is revenge, and this type of killing fits his business. He's in the internet porn trade; he has one of the biggest in the country."

But he'd still been skeptical. "And why would he put all that in danger over a penny-ante bust for small time theft?"

"Because he can, Jack. Simple as that. He has no family. He has the money and mob connections to get whatever he needs to do it, and he has the ego to want to bring you down - to knock you from the top of Pond Enterprises so he can feel bigger than you."

"But after all these years? No, I don't buy it."

Pulling a photo from a legal-sized envelope, she handed it to him. Looking at the man in rumpled clothing on a sidewalk in a city meant little to him. Looking up at Linda, his expression was a challenge. "And?"

She handed him another photo taken from farther away but still just as clear as the previous. The man was standing on a street corner as a New York Yellow cab turned the corner in front of him; he appeared to be mad at the cab driver for pulling so close to the curb. Then, Jack noticed the street sign and shivered. It was the street corner in front of the building where the company's executive suite was located - where he and Jan had been staying just before Thanksgiving. His voice shook a little as he asked, "Are you saying that's Scott Ryan, porn king, mob kingpin and very wealthy man?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Jack. I got this from a friend of mine in the FBI. It was given to them by one of their retired agents, to try and identify the person - you know, one of those good ol' boy favors. When they were able to identify both the man and where it was taken, he sent me a copy. He knew I had been in almost the same place, at almost the same time, and that I had gotten into a lot of trouble over it."

Knowing that Scott had been so close to both of them was what had spurred him on, sending him to the airport to try and get to Jan as quickly as possible.  

*****

The cigar smoke was becoming stifling, and Jan seemed to be coughing behind her gag. The smoker was close enough to the bed that Jack could see grey swirls blow out across Jan's body.

"Yes, Jackie boy. This is going to be so much better. And you know what I really like about it?" Pausing as if Jack could actually carry on this conversation with him, another cloud of cigar smoke wafted over Jan's breasts. "You will never know who I am. You see, as soon as you and I finish with Jan, I will have to kill you. Yes, Jack, I learned an important lesson the first time. I wanted you to be left behind - to live. I wanted you to suffer the rest of your life, and when you ended up in that wheelchair, you have no idea how happy I was. But then you seemed to pull yourself together. You seemed to put your life back together and move on. So this time, the buck stops here, Jackie boy."

Jack decided he wasn't going to sit here, and do nothing at all, he couldn't. Even if it provoked Scott into killing him first, that might be enough to scare him away from Jan. Maybe he'd panic and run. Moaning low and long, Jack started rocking his chair, violently from side to side, trying to tip the thing enough to fall on its side. He stopped though as quickly as he started when he saw a gloved hand come into the picture, pointing a stainless steel pistol at the side of Jan's head, and it appeared to be the same gun that killed Lisa, His stomach knotted as he admitted just how helpless he really was.

"That's better, Jack. I thought you might see it my way again."

The gun withdrew, but the glove-covered hand returned with a small knife - its blade shinning ominously, as it neared Jan's head. Jack lurched and moaned until the blade slipped under her gag and cut through it. The knife withdrew, and the hand returned to pluck the cloth out of her mouth and slide it from behind her head.

"There, Jan. Now you can talk to Jack for me. You want to do that don't you? A few last words of goodbye?"

Jan whimpered and drew her breath; Jack knew she was crying. Suddenly, her head jerked, and Jack heard the muffled sound as Scott slapped her.

"Listen, bitch. You'd better want to talk to Jack, or this could take a very, long time. I assure you I know what to do with a beautiful woman like you for a very, long, time, and it will hurt. A lot."

Jan's chest moved again, and Jack heard her suck her breath in. "J-Jack? I'm okay, Jack. He didn't do anything…" The gloved hand slapped across her face again. Rage now. "Did I tell you to give him a fucking report about your day, bitch? No, I said you might want to say goodbye."

"Okay. O-Okay," came out between sobs. Taking a deep breath again, Jan sniffled before starting. "Jack. I'm glad I'm getting a chance to talk to you. I was afraid I wouldn't." Pausing, she seemed to calm herself to continue. "I was afraid I wouldn't get a chance to tell you how much I love you. To tell you how much this little time we've had together has meant to me."

"Good, Jan. That's good. This will only make it hurt more for our Jackie boy."

Jack watched Jan breathing and tried to think of what he could do to stop this hell.

"I know you lost Lisa, Jack. I know you loved her when you lost her, but believe me when I tell you Jack that if I am to know no other love before I die other than yours, I'm grateful and happy."

There were padded clapping hands and a hearty, "Bra-vo….Bra----vo. Very good Jan. Look at what I've done for you two. It's amazing how I always bring out the best in relationships." The sinister chuckle of a very sick man left the room in silence again.

Jack chewed at his gag which made him cough as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Yes, Jackie boy, you could take lessons from this bitch. To bad there won't be time."

Scott's laughter cut deeper than any knife. "I bet you don't remember your dad calling you 'Jackie boy' at the warehouse, do you?" Jack heard another short bark of a laugh which was more like a dog choking on a bone as Scott continued, "Your old man didn't care. He didn't give a shit about me when the cops showed up at the house with a search warrant."

After a long quiet, Scott continued, sounding more like a little boy. He was unnervingly like the defiant Scott that had yelled at his father that day, when the police had cuffed him on the warehouse floor. Jack had looked on, almost old enough to understand, but not really. "I'll show you, Mr. Pond. You'll regret this!"

Jack's father only shook his head as the Ryan kid was dragged through the large freight doors, kicking and screaming, head pushed down before he was shoved in the backseat of the police cruiser.

"I had a Lisa once, Jackie boy. Did you know that?" With another short bark of a laugh, Scott added, answering his own question, "No, Jackie boy, nobody thought about me, about that, about what it would do to us."

Jack was confused when the picture from the cam went out of focus, but when it cleared up again, he realized Scott had zoomed in tighter on Jan. Her breasts were no longer in the picture, and now, he could see only her neck and chin, the tip of her nose, and her brow as she stared blankly at the ceiling, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

Gagging again on the material in his mouth, he was startled when Scott's gloved hand suddenly appeared, and he pushed his pistol deep enough into Jan's mouth to make her gag as well. "There you are, bitch. Suck it. One thing Lisa didn't do very well was suck it for me. But every second you suck, it is another second you live."

Jack closed his eyes in disgust as he watched Jan's lips make a sucking motion around the cold steel of the barrel. But he opened them just as quickly, not wanting Jan to have to live through this alone.

"What do you think, Jackie boy? Is she good or is she good?"

Jack could only mumble his curses into the gag as Scott started moving the gun in and out of Jan's mouth like a man rolling his hips, making his cock move in and out. Then he saw another gloved hand grab Jan's hair and jerk her head on and off of the barrel in time to the movements of his hand's jerking motion. "Hey, Jack, I think this girl's got talent," Scott exclaimed with excitement. Suddenly, Scott's voice became low and husky, almost intimate as he whispered, "That's right, babe, make me cum. Do it good. Come on, baby. I'm going to cum." And with that, Jack heard the sinister click of the hammer being pulled back on the pistol. "Take it all, baby. Swallow it all! I'm going to cum!"

The sound was deafening as the gun went off, and Jack slammed back against the chair. It fell with a thud, the back of his head connecting hard with the ceramic tile floor of Jan's bedroom as he sobbed into his gag, and the light faded as he passed out.



The Sentinel Ch. 21



Jack? Jack? Wake up Jack." He could feel a cold damp cloth on his face and knew the gag had been removed. His arms felt cold, but he could move them again, and his foot seemed to slide before hitting something. Realizing he was no longer on the floor, he looked around frantically trying to find Jan. 

"Jack. Are you okay?" a hoarse voice asked.

He knew the voice was familiar, but it wasn't until her face came into view that he recognized Linda. "Jack. Can you hear me?"

Swallowing, he managed a soft whisper. "Yes."

"Are you okay, Jack? You took quite a blow. An ambulance is on its way," she insisted.

Closing his eyes, he whispered, "I did it again, Linda. I killed her. I killed Jan this time."

Taking his head in her hands, she rolled it until their eyes were locked. "No, Jack. Jan's fine. I shot him. I shot Scott before he could pull the trigger."

With that, Jan came into view as she rolled closer on the bed, sporting deep circles under her eyes and a cheek swollen black and blue from Scott's slap earlier. Her lips were chapped and bleeding from the gag and Scott's subsequent work with the gun, but she leaned down close to his ear and whispered, low and hoarse, "I'm okay Jack." With that she kissed him lightly on the lips before collapsing back to the mattress beside him.

Jack turned on his side to look at Jan as she lay beside him, his eyes closed as she whispered, "I meant everything I said, Jack."

There was the sound of feet running up the stairs, and Jack turned to the door to find Linda leaning out, gun in hand, to see who it was. As she pointed the gun past the door frame, he heard her demand, "Stop. Who the hell are you, and where do you think you're going!"

The thundering foot falls stopped, and he heard a man say, "We're a private security team assigned to protect Mr. Pond." Linda disappeared, and Jack slid his feet off the bed onto the floor as his vision tunneled and his head throbbed. Pushing himself away from the mattress, he stood and glanced around. Linda had covered Jan with the beach towel, and her computer was still on. Beside the computer was a gun; maybe Dave's, he thought. Walking by the table, he picked it up and staggered to the door, leaning out into the hall.

Linda was holding what looked like identification in one hand with her gun in her other hand pointed loosely at two men as she talked quietly with them. Deciding there was no further danger, he turned and staggered back to the bed, falling across Jan's legs and managing to whisper, "I love you, Jan," before passing out, blood trickling down the back of his neck.